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THE  WRITINGS   OF 
THOMAS   WENTWORTH    HIGGINSON 


VOLUME   VII 


*a'0' 

\7 


STUDIES  IN  HISTORY 
AND    LETTERS 


BY 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfoe  flifoersi&e  press,  Cambridge 

M  DCCCC 


COPYRIGHT,  1891  AND  IQOO 

BY  THOMAS  WENTWORTH   HIGGINSON 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT  (1859)     ...  I 

MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS  (1858) ....  40 

THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  (1862) 84 

THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  (1869) 130 

SAPPHO  (1871) 168 

ON  AN  OLD  LATIN  TEXT-BOOK  (1871)  20O 

AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE  (1870)          .       .       .  22O 

THE  NEW  WORLD  AND  THE  NEW  BOOK  (1891)      .  243 

A  CONTEMPORANEOUS  POSTERITY  (l8$l)     .       .       .  257 

DO   WE  NEED  A   LITERARY   CENTRE?    (l8gi)        .           .  266 

THE   EQUATION   OF   FAME    (1891) 275 

AN   AMERICAN  TEMPERAMENT    (l8gi)           .          .          .  283 

THE   SHADOW   OF  EUROPE    (1891) 290 

ON   TAKING  OURSELVES    SERIOUSLY    (1891)           .          .  297 

A  COSMOPOLITAN  STANDARD    (1891)       ....  304 

THE   LITERARY   PENDULUM    (1891)       .           .          .          .  3!  I 

THE   SYMPATHY  OF   RELIGIONS    (1871)    ....  318 

THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY   (1875)      ....  360 


STUDIES    IN   HISTORY  AND 
LETTERS 


A   CHARGE  WITH   PRINCE   RUPERT 

"  Thousands  were  there,  in  darker  fame  that  dwell, 

Whose  deeds  some  nobler  poem  shall  adorn  ; 
And  though  to  me  unknown,  they  sure  fought  well, 
Whom  Rupert  led,  and  who  were  British-born." 

DRYDEN 


THE   MARCH.      JUNE    17,   1643 

LAST  night  the  Canary  wine  flashed  in  the 
red  Venice  glasses  on  the  oaken  tables  of  the 
hall ;  loud  voices  shouted  and  laughed  till  the 
clustered  hawk-bells  jingled  from  the  rafters, 
while  the  coupled  stag-hounds  fawned  unno 
ticed,  and  the  watchful  falcon  whistled  to  him 
self  unheard.  In  the  carved  chairs  lounged 
groups  of  revellers,  dressed  in  scarlet,  dressed 
in  purple,  dressed  in  white  and  gold,  gay  with 
satins  and  ribbons,  gorgeous  with  glittering 
chains  and  jewelled  swords  :  stern,  manly  faces, 
that  had  been  singed  with  powder  in  the  Palati- 


2     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

nate;  brutal,  swarthy  faces,  knowing  all  that 
sack  and  sin  could  teach  them ;  handsome,  boy 
ish  faces,  fresh  from  ancestral  homes  and  high 
born  mothers  ;  grave,  sad  faces,  —  sad  for  un 
doubted  tyranny,  grave  before  the  greater  wrong 
of  disloyalty.  Some  were  in  council,  some  were 
in  strife,  many  were  in  liquor  ;  the  parson  was 
there  with  useless  gravity,  the  jester  with  super 
fluous  folly;  and  in  the  outer  hall  men  more 
plebeian  drained  the  brown  October  from  pew 
ter  cans,  which  were  beaten  flat,  next  moment, 
in  hammering  the  loud  drinking-chorus  on  the 
wall ;  while  the  clink  of  the  armorer  still  went 
on,  repairing  the  old  headpieces  and  breast 
plates  which  had  hung  untouched  since  the 
Wars  of  the  Roses ;  and  in  the  doorway  the 
wild  Welsh  recruits  crouched  with  their  scythes 
and  their  cudgels,  and  muttered  in  their  uncouth 
dialect,  now  a  prayer  to  God,  and  now  a  curse 
for  their  enemy. 

But  to-day  the  inner  hall  is  empty,  the  stag- 
hounds  leap  in  the  doorway,  the  chaplain  prays, 
the  maidens  cluster  in  the  windows,  beneath  the 
soft  beauty  of  the  June  afternoon.  The  streets 
of  Oxford  resound  with  many  hoofs  ;  armed 
troopers  are  gathering  beside  chapel  and  quad 
rangle,  gateway  and  tower ;  the  trumpeter  waves 
his  gold  and  crimson  trappings,  and  blows,  "  To 
the  Standard,"  —  for  the  great  flag  is  borne  to 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT        3 

the  front,  and  Rupert  and  his  men  are  muster 
ing  for  a  night  of  danger. 

With  beat  of  drum,  with  clatter  of  hoof  and 
rattle  of  spur  and  scabbard,  tramping  across  old 
Magdalen  Bridge,  cantering  down  the  hillsides, 
crashing  through  the  beech-woods,  echoing 
through  the  chalky  hollows,  ride  leisurely  the 
gay  Cavaliers.  Some  in  new  scarfs  and  feathers, 
worthy  of  the  "  show-troop,"  others  with  torn 
laces,  broken  helmets,  and  guilty  red  smears 
on  their  buff  doublets  ;  some  eager  for  their 
first  skirmish,  others  weak  and  silent,  still  ban 
daged  from  the  last  one ;  discharging  now  a 
rattle  of  contemptuous  shot  at  some  closed 
Puritan  house,  grim  and  stern  as  its  master; 
firing  anon  as  noisy  a  salute,  as  they  pass  some 
mansion  where  a  high-born  beauty  dwells,  —  on 
they  ride.  Leaving  the  towers  of  Oxford  be 
hind  them,  keeping  the  ancient  Roman  highway, 
passing  by  the  low,  strong,  many-gabled  farm 
houses,  with  rustic  beauties  smiling  at  the  win 
dows  and  wiser  fathers  scowling  at  the  doors,  — 
on  they  ride.  To  the  Royalists,  these  troopers 
are  "  Prince  Robert  and  the  hope  of  the  nation ;  " 
to  the  Puritans,  they  are  only  "  Prince  Robber 
and  his  company  of  rake-shames." 

Riding  great  Flanders  horses,  a  flagon  swung 
on  one  side  of  the  large  padded  saddle,  and  a 
haversack  on  the  other,  —  booted  to  the  thigh, 


4     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

and  girded  with  the  leathern  bandoleer,  that 
supports  cartridge-box  and  basket-hilted  sword, 
they  are  a  picturesque  and  a  motley  troop. 
Some  wear  the  embroidered  buffcoat  over  the 
coat  of  mail,  others  beneath  it,  —  neither  hav 
ing  yet  learned  that  the  buffcoat  alone  is  sabre- 
proof  and  bullet-proof  also.  Scantily  furnished 
with  basinet  or  breastplate,  pot,  haqueton,  cui 
rass,  pouldron,  taslets,  vambraces,  or  cuisses,  — 
each  with  the  best  piece  of  iron  he  could  secure 
when  the  ancestral  armory  was  ransacked,  — 
they  yet  care  little  for  the  deficit,  remembering, 
that,  when  they  first  rode  down  the  enemy  at 
Worcester,  there  was  not  a  piece  of  armor  on 
their  side,  while  the  Puritans  were  armed  to  a 
man.  There  are  a  thousand  horsemen  under 
Percy  and  O'Neal,  armed  with  swords,  pole- 
axes,  and  petronels  ;  this  includes  Rupert's  own 
lifeguard  of  chosen  men.  Lord  Wentworth, 
with  Innis  and  Washington,  leads  three  hundred 
and  fifty  dragoons,  —  dragoons  of  the  old  style, 
intended  to  fight  either  on  foot  or  on  horseback, 
whence  the  name  they  bear,  and  the  emblem 
atic  dragon  which  adorns  their  carbines.  The 
advanced  guard,  or  "forlorn  hope,"  of  a  hun 
dred  horse  and  fifty  dragoons,  is  commanded  by 
Will  Legge,  Rupert's  lifelong  friend  and  corre 
spondent  ;  and  Herbert  Lunsford  leads  the  in 
fantry,  "the  inhuman  cannibal  foot,"  as  the 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT        5 

Puritan  journals  call  them.  There  are  five  hun 
dred  of  these,  in  lightest  marching  order,  and 
carrying  either  pike  or  arquebuse,  —  this  last 
being  a  matchlock  musket,  with  an  iron  rest  to 
support  it,  and  a  lance  combined,  to  resist  cav 
alry,  —  the  whole  being  called  "  Swine  (Swedish) 
feathers,"  — a  weapon  so  clumsy  that  the  Cav 
aliers  say  a  Puritan  needs  two  years'  practice  to 
discharge  one  without  winking.  And  over  all 
these  float  flags  of  every  hue  and  purport,  from 
the  blue  and  gold  with  its  loyal  "  Ut  rex,  sit  rex" 
to  the  ominous  crimson,  flaming  with  a  lurid 
furnace  and  the  terrible  motto,  "  Quasi  ignis 
conflatoris." 

And  foremost  rides  Prince  Rupert,  darling 
of  fortune  and  of  war,  with  his  beautiful  and 
thoughtful  face  of  twenty-three,  stern  and 
bronzed  already,  yet  beardless  and  dimpled,  his 
dark  and  passionate  eyes,  his  long  lovelocks 
drooping  over  costly  embroidery,  his  graceful 
scarlet  cloak,  his  white-plumed  hat,  and  his  tall 
and  stately  form,  which,  almost  alone  in  the 
army,  has  not  yet  known  a  wound.  His  high 
born  beauty  is  preserved  to  us  forever  on  the 
canvas  of  Vandyck,  and  as  the  Italians  have 
named  the  artist  "  II  Pittore  Cavalieresco,"  so 
will  this  subject  of  his  skill  remain  forever  the 
ideal  of  II  Cavaliere  Pittoresco.  And  as  he  now 
rides  at  the  head  of  this  brilliant  array,  his 


6     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

beautiful  white  dog  bounds  onward  joyously 
beside  him,  that  quadruped  renowned  in  the 
pamphlets  of  the  time,  whose  snowy  skin  has 
been  stained  by  many  a  blood-drop  in  the  de 
sperate  forays  of  his  master,  but  who  has  thus 
far  escaped  so  safely  that  the  Puritans  believe 
him  a  familiar  spirit,  and  try  to  destroy  him  "  by 
poyson  and  extempore  prayer,  which  yet  hurt 
him  no  more  than  the  plague  plaster  did  Mr. 
Pym."  Failing  in  this,  they  pronounce  the 
pretty  creature  to  be  "  a  divell,  not  a  very  down 
right  divell,  but  some  Lapland  ladye,  once  by 
nature  a  handsome  white  ladye,  now  by  art  a 
handsome  white  dogge." 

The  Civil  War  is  begun.  The  King  has  made 
his  desperate  attempt  to  arrest  the  five  mem 
bers  of  Parliament,  and  has  been  checkmated 
by  Lucy  Carlisle.  So  the  fatal  standard  was 
reared,  ten  months  ago,  on  that  dismal  day  at 
Nottingham,  — the  King's  arms,  quartered  with 
a  bloody  hand  pointing  to  the  crown,  and  the  red 
battle-flag  above,  —  blown  down  disastrously  at 
night,  replaced  sadly  in  the  morning,  to  wave 
while  the  Cavaliers  rallied,  slowly,  beneath  its 
folds.  During  those  long  months  the  King's 
fortunes  have  had  constant  and  increasing  suc 
cess,  —  a  success  always  greatest  when  Rupert 
has  been  nearest.  And  now  this  night  march 
is  made  to  avenge  a  late  attack,  of  unaccustomed 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT   7 

audacity,  from  Essex,  and  to  redeem  the  threat 
of  Rupert  to  pass  in  one  night  through  the 
whole  country  held  by  the  enemy,  and  beat  up 
the  most  distant  quarter  of  the  Roundheads. 


II 

THE   CONDITION    OF   THE   TIMES 

It  is  no  easy  thing  to  paint,  with  any  accurate 
shadings,  this  opening  period  of  the  English 
Revolution.  Looking  habitually,  as  we  do,  at 
the  maturer  condition  of  the  two  great  parties, 
we  do  not  remember  how  gradual  was  their 
formation.  The  characters  of  Cavalier  and 
Roundhead  were  not  more  the  cause  than  the 
consequence  of  civil  strife.  There  is  no  such 
chemical  solvent  as  war ;  where  it  finds  a  min 
gling  of  two  alien  elements,  it  leaves  them  per 
manently  severed.  At  the  opening  of  hostili 
ties  the  two  parties  were  scarcely  distinguishable, 
in  externals,  from  each  other.  Arms,  costume, 
features,  phrases,  manners,  were  as  yet  com 
mon  to  both  sides.  On  the  battlefield,  spies 
could  pass  undetected  from  one  army  to  the 
other.  At  Edgehill,  Chalgrove,  and  even 
Naseby,  men  and  standards  were  captured  and 
rescued,  through  the  impossibility  of  distin 
guishing  between  the  forces.  An  orange  scarf, 


8     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

or  a  piece  of  white  paper,  was  the  most  reliable 
designation.  True,  there  was  nothing  in  the 
Parliamentary  army  so  gorgeous  as  Sir  John 
Suckling's  troop  in  Scotland,  with  its  white 
doublets  and  scarlet  hats  and  plumes ;  though 
that  bright  company  substituted  the  white 
feather  for  the  red  one,  in  1639,  and  rallied  no 
more.  Yet  even  the  Puritans  came  to  battle 
in  attire  which  would  have  seemed  preposter 
ously  gaudy  to  the  plain  men  of  our  own  Revo 
lution.  The  London  regiment  of  Hollis  wore 
red,  in  imitation  of  the  royal  colors,  adopted  to 
make  wounds  less  conspicuous.  Lord  Say's 
regiment  wore  blue,  in  imitation  of  the  Cove 
nanters,  who  took  it  from  "  Numbers  xv.  38 ; " 
Hampden's  men  wore  green,  Lord  Brooke's 
purple,  Colonel  Ballard's  gray.  Even  the  hair 
afforded  far  less  distinction  than  we  imagine, 
since  there  is  scarcely  a  portrait  of  a  leading 
Parliamentarian  which  has  not  a  display  of 
tresses  such  as  would  now  appear  the  extreme 
of  foppery ;  and  when  the  remains  of  Hampden 
himself  were  disinterred,  within  half  a  century, 
the  body  was  at  first  taken  for  a  woman's,  from 
the  exceeding  length  and  beauty  of  the  hair. 

But  every  year  of  warfare  brought  a  change. 
On  the  King's  side,  the  raiment  grew  more  gor 
geous  amid  misfortunes;  on  the  Parliament's, 
it  became  sadder  with  every  success.  The 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT       9 

Royalists  took  up  feathers  and  oaths  in  propor 
tion  as  the  Puritans  laid  them  down  ;  and  as 
the  tresses  of  the  Cavaliers  waved  more  luxuri 
antly,  the  hair  of  the  Roundheads  was  more 
scrupulously  shorn.  But  the  same  instinctive 
exaggeration  was  constantly  extending  into 
manners  and  morals  also.  Both  sides  became 
ostentatious ;  the  one  made  the  most  of  its  dis 
soluteness,  and  the  other  of  its  decorum.  The 
reproachful  names  applied  derisively  to  the 
two  parties  became  fixed  distinctions.  The 
word  "  Roundhead "  was  first  used  early  in 
1642,  though  whether  it  originated  with  Henri 
etta  Maria  or  with  David  Hyde  is  disputed. 
King  Charles,  in  his  speech  before  the  battle 
of  Edgehill,  in  October  of  the  same  year,  men 
tioned  the  name  "  Cavalier  "  as  one  bestowed 
"in  a  reproachful  sense,"  and  one  "which  our 
enemies  have  striven  to  make  odious." 

Thus  all  social  as  well  as  moral  prejudices 
gradually  identified  themselves  with  this  party 
division.  As  time  passed  on,  all  that  was  high 
born  in  England  gravitated  more  and  more  to 
the  royal  side,  while  the  popular  cause  enlisted 
the  Londoners,  the  yeomanry,  and  those  coun 
try  gentlemen  whom  Mrs.  Hutchinson  styled 
the  "worsted-stocking  members."  The  Puri 
tans  gradually  found  themselves  excluded  from 
the  manorial  halls,  and  the  Cavaliers  —  a  more 


io    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

inconvenient  privation  —  from  the  blacksmiths' 
shops.  Languishing  at  first  under  aristocratic 
leadership,  the  cause  of  the  Parliament  first 
became  strong  when  the  Self-denying  Ordi 
nance  abolished  all  that  weakness.  Thus  the 
very  sincerity  of  civil  conflict  drew  the  lines 
deeper ;  had  the  battles  been  fought  by  merce 
naries,  like  the  contemporary  Continental  wars, 
there  would  have  grown  up  a  less  hearty  mutual 
antipathy,  but  a  far  more  terrible  demoraliza 
tion.  As  it  was,  the  character  of  the  war  was, 
on  the  whole,  humane  ;  few  towns  were  sacked 
or  destroyed,  the  harvests  were  bounteous  and 
freely  gathered,  and  the  population  increased 
during  the  whole  period.  But  the  best  civil 
war  is  fearfully  injurious.  In  this  case,  virtues 
and  vices  were  found  on  both  sides ;  and  it  was 
only  the  gradual  preponderance  which  finally 
stamped  on  each  party  its  own  historic  reputa 
tion.  The  Cavaliers  confessed  to  "the  vices 
of  men,  —  love  of  wine  and  women  ; "  but  they 
charged  upon  their  opponents  "the  vices  of 
devils,  —  hypocrisy  and  spiritual  pride."  Ac 
cordingly,  the  two  verdicts  have  been  recorded 
in  the  most  delicate  of  all  registers,  —  language. 
For  the  Cavaliers  added  to  the  English  vocabu 
lary  the  word  plunder,  and  the  Puritans  the 
word  cant. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  at  the  outset  neither  of 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT       n 

these  peculiarities  was  monopolized  by  dther 
party.  In  abundant  instances  the  sins  changed 
places,  —  Cavaliers  canted,  and  Puritans  plun 
dered.  That  is,  if  by  cant  we  understand  the 
exaggerated  use  of  Scripture  language  which 
originated  with  the  reverend  gentleman  of  that 
name,  it  was  an  offence  in  which  both  sides 
participated.  Clarendon,  reviewing  the  Pres 
byterian  discourses,  quoted  text  against  text 
with  infinite  relish.  Old  Judge  Jenkins,  could 
he  have  persuaded  the  "  House  of  Rimmon," 
as  he  called  Parliament,  to  hang  him,  would 
have  swung  the  Bible  triumphantly  to  his  neck 
by  a  ribbon,  to  show  the  unscriptural  character 
of  their  doings.  Charles  himself,  in  one  of  his 
early  addresses  to  his  army,  denounced  the 
opposing  party  as  "  Brownists,  Anabaptists,  and 
Atheists,"  and  in  his  address  to  the  city  of 
London  pleaded  in  favor  of  his  own  "godly, 
learned,  and  painfull  preachers."  Every  royal 
regiment  had  its  chaplain,  including  in  the  ser 
vice  such  men  as  Pearson  and  Jeremy  Taylor ; 
and  they  had  prayers  before  battle,  as  regularly 
and  seriously  as  their  opponents.  "  After  sol 
emn  prayers  at  the  head  of  every  division,  I  led 
my  part  away,"  wrote  the  virtuous  Sir  Bevill 
Grenvill  to  his  wife,  after  the  battle  of  Bradock 
Rupert,  in  like  manner,  had  prayers  before 
every  division  at  Marston  Moor.  To  be  sure, 


12     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

we  cannot  always  vouch  for  the  quality  of  these 
prayers,  when  the  chaplain  happened  to  be  out 
of  the  way  and  the  colonel  was  his  substitute. 
"  O  Lord,"  petitioned  stout  Sir  Jacob  Astley, 
at  Edgehill,  "  thou  knowest  how  busy  I  must 
be  this  day ;  if  I  forget  thee,  do  not  thou  for 
get  me  !  "  —  after  which  he  rose  up,  crying, 
"  March  on,  boys  ! " 

And  as  the  Puritans  had  not  the  monopoly 
of  prayer,  so  the  Cavaliers  did  not  monopolize 
plunder.  Of  course,  when  civil  war  is  once 
begun,  such  laxity  is  mere  matter  of  self-de 
fence.  If  the  Royalists  unhorsed  the  Round 
heads,  the  latter  must  horse  themselves  again 
as  best  they  could.  If  Goring  "uncattled"  the 
neighborhood  of  London,  Major  Medhope  must 
be  ordered  to  "  uncattle  "  the  neighborhood  of 
Oxford.  Very  possibly  individual  animals  were 
identified  with  the  right  side  or  the  wrong  side, 
to  be  spared  or  confiscated  in  consequence,  — 
as  in  modern  Kansas,  during  a  similar  condi 
tion  of  things,  one  might  hear  men  talk  of  a 
pro-slavery  colt,  or  an  anti-slavery  cow.  And 
the  precedent  being  established,  each  party 
could  use  the  smallest  excesses  of  the  other 
side  to  palliate  the  greatest  of  its  own.  No 
use  for  the  King  to  hang  two  of  Rupert's  men 
for  stealing,  when  their  commander  could  urge 
in  extenuation  the  plunder  of  the  house  of  Lady 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT       13 

Lucas,  and  the  indignities  offered  by  the  Round 
heads  to  the  Countess  of  Rivers.  Why  spare 
the  churches  as  sanctuaries  for  the  enemy,  when 
rumor  accused  that  enemy — rightly  or  wrongly 
—  of  hunting  cats  in  those  same  churches  with 
hounds,  or  baptizing  dogs  and  pigs  in  ridicule 
of  the  consecrated  altars  ?  Setting  aside  these 
charges  as  questionable,  we  cannot  so  easily 
dispose  of  the  facts  which  rest  on  actual  Puri 
tan  testimony.  If,  even  after  the  Self-denying 
Ordinance,  the  "  Perfect  Occurrences  "  repeat 
edly  report  soldiers  of  the  Puritan  army  as 
cashiered  for  drunkenness,  pilfering,  cheating 
innkeepers,  and  insulting  women,  it  is  inevita 
ble  to  infer  that  in  earlier  and  less  stringent 
times  they  did  the  same  unpunished.  When 
Mrs.  Hutchinson  describes  a  portion  of  the 
soldiers  on  her  own  side  as  "  licentious,  ungov 
ernable  wretches ; "  when  Sir  Samuel  Luke, 
in  his  letters,  depicts  the  glee  with  which  his 
men  plunder  the  pockets  of  the  slain ;  when 
poor  John  Wolstenholme  writes  to  headquar 
ters  that  his  own  compatriots  have  seized  all 
his  hay  and  horses,  "  so  that  his  wife  cannot 
serve  God  with  the  congregation  but  in  frosty 
weather ; "  when  Vicars  in  "  Jehovah  Jireh  " 
exults  over  the  horrible  maiming  and  butchery 
wrought  by  the  troopers  upon  the  officers'  wives 
and  female  camp-followers  at  Naseby,  —  it  is 


14    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

useless  to  attribute  exaggeration  to  the  other 
side.  In  civil  war,  even  the  most  humane, 
there  is  seldom  much  opening  for  exaggeration, 
the  actual  horrors  being  usually  quite  as  vivid 
as  any  imaginations  of  the  sufferers,  especially 
when,  as  in  this  case,  the  spiritual  instructors 
preach,  on  the  one  side,  from  "  Curse  ye  Meroz," 
and,  on  the  other  side,  from  "  Cursed  be  he  that 
keepeth  back  his  sword  from  blood." 

These  things  should  be  mentioned,  not  so 
much  because  they  are  deliberately  denied  by 
anybody,  as  because  they  are  apt  to  be  over 
looked  by  those  who  take  their  facts  at  second 
hand.  All  this  does  not  show  that  the  Puritans 
had,  even  at  the  outset,  worse  men  or  a  cause 
no  better  ;  it  simply  shows  that  war  demoralizes, 
and  that  right-thinking  men  may  easily,  under 
its  influence,  slide  into  rather  reprehensible 
practices.  At  a  later  period  the  evil  worked 
its  own  cure  among  the  Puritans,  and  the  army 
of  Cromwell  was  a  moral  triumph  almost  incred 
ible  ;  but  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  the 
distinction  was  but  lightly  drawn.  It  would  be 
easy  to  go  farther  and  show  that  among  the 
leading  Parliamentary  statesmen  there  were 
gay  and  witty  debauchees ;  that  Harry  Mar 
ten  deserved  the  epithet  with  which  Cromwell 
saluted  him ;  that  Pym  succeeded  to  the  re 
gards  of  Strafford's  bewitching  mistress ;  that 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT       15 

Warwick  was  truly,  as  Clarendon  describes  him, 
a  profuse  and  generous  profligate,  tolerated  by 
the  Puritans  for  the  sake  of  his  earldom  and 
his  bounty,  at  a  time  when  bounty  was  conven 
ient  and  peers  were  scarce.  But  it  is  hardly 
worth  while  further  to  illustrate  the  simple  and 
intelligible  fact,  that  there  were  faults  on  both 
sides.  Neither  war  nor  any  other  social  phe 
nomenon  can  divide  infallibly  the  sheep  from 
the  goats,  nor  collect  all  the  saints  under  one 
set  of  staff-officers  and  all  the  sinners  under 
another. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  strength  of  both 
sides,  at  this  early  day,  was  in  a  class  of  serious 
and  devoted  men,  who  took  up  the  sword  so 
sadly,  in  view  of  civil  strife,  that  victory  seemed 
to  them  almost  as  terrible  as  defeat.  In  some, 
the  scale  of  loyalty  slightly  inclined,  and  they 
held  with  the  King ;  in  others,  the  scale  of  lib 
erty,  and  they  served  the  Parliament ;  in  both 
cases,  with  the  same  noble  regrets  at  first, 
merging  gradually  into  bitter  alienation  after 
wards.  "  If  there  could  be  an  expedient  found 
to  solve  the  punctilio  of  honor,  I  would  not  be 
here  an  hour,"  wrote  Lord  Robert  Spencer  to 
his  wife,  from  the  camp  of  the  Cavaliers.  Sir 
Edmund  Verney,  the  King's  standard-bearer, 
disapproved  of  the  royal  cause,  and  adhered  to 
it  only  because  he  "  had  eaten  the  King's 


16    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

bread."  Lord  Falkland,  Charles's  Secretary  of 
State,  "  sitting  among  his  friends,  often,  after  a 
deep  silence  and  frequent  sighs,  would,  with  a 
shriek  and  sad  accent,  ingeminate  the  words, 
Peace  !  Peace  ! "  and  would  prophesy  for  him 
self  that  death  which  soon  came.  And  these 
words  find  their  parallels  in  those  of  men  hon 
ored  among  the  Puritans,  as  when  Sir  William 
Waller  wrote  from  his  camp  to  his  chivalrous 
opponent,  Sir  Ralph  Hopton,  "  The  great  God, 
who  is  the  searcher  of  my  heart,  knows  with 
what  reluctance  I  go  upon  this  service." 

As  time  passed  on,  the  hostility  between  the 
two  parties  exceeded  all  bounds  of  courteous 
intercourse.  The  social  distinction  was  con 
stantly  widening,  and  so  was  the  religious  an 
tagonism.  Waller  could  be  allowed  to  joke 
with  Goring  and  sentimentalize  with  Hopton, 
for  Waller  was  a  gentleman,  though  a  rebel ; 
but  it  was  a  different  thing  when  the  Puritan 
gentlemen  were  seen  to  be  gradually  super 
seded  by  Puritan  clowns.  Strafford  had  early 
complained  of  "  your  Prynnes,  Pirns,  and  Bens, 
with  the  rest  of  that  generation  of  odd  names 
and  natures."  But  what  were  these  to  the 
later  brood,  whose  plebeian  quality  Mr.  Buckle 
has  so  laboriously  explored,  —  Goffe  the  grocer 
and  Whalley  the  tailor,  Pride  the  drayman  and 
Venner  the  cooper,  culminating  at  last  in  Noll 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT       17 

Cromwell  the  brewer?  The  formidable  force 
of  these  upstarts  only  embittered  the  aversion. 
If  odious  when  vanquished,  what  must  they 
have  been  as  victors  ?  For  if  it  be  disagree 
able  to  find  a  foeman  unworthy  of  your  steel, 
it  is  much  more  unpleasant  when  your  steel 
turns  out  unworthy  of  the  foeman ;  and  if  sad- 
colored  Puritan  raiment  looked  absurd  upon  the 
persons  of  fugitives,  it  must  have  been  very 
particularly  unbecoming  when  worn  by  con 
querors. 

This  growing  division  was  also  constantly 
aggravated  by  very  acid  satire.  The  Court,  it 
must  be  remembered,  was  more  than  half 
French  in  its  general  character  and  tone,  while 
every  Frenchman  of  that  day  habitually  sneered 
at  every  Englishman  as  dull  and  inelegant.  The 
dazzling  wit  that  flashed  for  both  sides  in  the 
French  civil  wars  gleamed  for  one  only  in  the 
English  ;  the  Puritans  had  no  comforts  of  that 
kind,  save  in  some  caustic  repartee  from  Harry 
Marten,  or  some  fearless  sarcasm  from  Lucy 
Carlisle.  But  the  Cavaliers  softened  labor  and 
sweetened  care  with  their  little  jokes.  It  was 
rather  consoling  to  cover  some  ignominious 
retreat  with  a  new  epigram  on  Cromwell's  red 
nose,  that  irresistible  member  which  kindled  in 
its  day  as  much  wit  as  Bardolph's ;  to  hail  it 
as  "  Nose  Immortal,"  a  beacon,  a  glowworm, 


i8    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

a  bird  of  prey ;  to  make  it  stand  as  a  person 
ification  of  the  rebel  cause,  till  even  the  stately 
Montrose  asked  new-comers  from  England, 
"  How  is  Oliver's  nose  ?  "  It  was  very  enter 
taining  to  christen  the  Solemn  League  and 
Covenant  "the  constellation  on  the  back  of 
Aries,"  because  most  of  the  signers  could  only 
make  their  marks  on  the  little  bits  of  sheep 
skin  circulated  for  that  purpose.  It  was  quite 
lively  to  rebaptize  Rundway  Down  as  Run 
away-down,  after  a  royal  victory,  and  to  remark 
how  Hazlerig's  regiment  of  "lobsters"  turned  to 
crabs,  on  that  occasion,  and  crawled  backwards. 
But  all  these  pleasant  follies  became  whips  to 
scourge  them,  at  last,  —  shifting  suddenly  into 
very  grim  earnest  when  the  Royalists  them 
selves  took  to  running  away,  with  truculent 
saints,  in  steeple-hats,  behind  them. 

Oxford  was  the  stronghold  of  the  Cavaliers, 
in  those  times,  as  that  of  the  Puritans  was  Lon 
don.  The  Court  itself  (though  here  we  are 
anticipating  a  little)  was  transferred  to  the  aca 
demic  city.  Thither  came  Henrietta  Maria, 
with  what  the  pamphleteers  called  "her  Rat 
tle-headed  Parliament  of  Ladies,"  the  beautiful 
Duchess  of  Richmond,  the  merry  Mrs.  Kirke, 
and  brave  Kate  D'Aubigny.  In  Merton  College 
the  Queen  resided ;  at  Oriel  the  Privy  Council 
was  held ;  at  Christ  Church  the  King  and  Ru- 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      19 

pert  were  quartered ;  and  at  All  Souls  Jeremy 
Taylor  was  writing  his  beautiful  meditations, 
in  the  intervals  of  war.  In  the  New  College 
quadrangle,  the  students  were  drilled  to  arms 
"  in  the  eye  of  Doctor  Pink,"  while  Mars  and 
Venus  kept  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 
although  transferred  to  the  sacred  precincts  of 
Magdalen.  And  amidst  the  passion  and  the 
pomp,  the  narrow  streets  would  suddenly  ring 
with  the  trumpet  of  some  foam-covered  scout, 
bringing  tidings  of  perilous  deeds  outside  ;  while 
some  traitorous  spy  was  being  hanged,  drawn, 
and  quartered  in  some  other  part  of  the  city, 
for  betraying  the  secrets  of  the  Court.  And 
forth  from  the  outskirts  of  Oxford  rides  Rupert 
on  the  day  we  are  to  describe,  and  we  must 
still  protract  our  pause  a  little  longer  to  speak 
of  him. 

Prince  Rupert,  Prince  Robert,  or  Prince  Rob 
ber,  —  for  by  all  these  names  was  he  known,  — 
was  the  one  formidable  military  leader  on  the 
royal  side.  He  was  not  a  statesman,  for  he 
was  hardly  yet  a  mature  man  ;  he  was  not,  in 
the  grandest  sense,  a  hero,  yet  he  had  no  quality 
that  was  not  heroic.  Chivalrous,  brilliant,  hon 
est,  generous,  —  not  dissolute,  nor  bigoted,  nor 
cruel,  —  he  was  still  a  Royalist  for  the  love  of 
royalty,  and  a  soldier  for  the  love  of  war ; 
and  in  civil  strife  there  can  hardly  be  a  more 


20    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

dangerous  character.  Through  all  the  blunt 
periods  of  his  military  or  civil  proclamations, 
we  see  the  proud,  careless  boy,  fighting  for 
fighting's  sake,  and  always  finding  his  own  side 
the  right  one.  He  could  not  have  much  charity 
for  the  most  generous  opponents  ;  he  certainly 
had  none  at  all  for  those  who  (as  he  said)  printed 
malicious  and  lying  pamphlets  against  him  "  al 
most  every  morning,"  in  which  he  found  him 
self  saluted  as  a  "nest  of  perfidious  vipers,"  "a 
night-flying  dragon  prince,"  "  a  flapdragon,"  "a 
caterpillar,"  "a  spider,"  and  "a  butterbox." 

He  was  the  King's  own  nephew, — great- 
grandson  of  William  the  Silent,  and  son  of  that 
Elizabeth  Stuart  from  whom  all  the  modern 
royal  family  of  England  descends.  His  sister 
was  the  renowned  Princess  Palatine,  the  one 
favorite  pupil  of  Descartes,  and  the  chosen 
friend  of  Leibnitz,  Malebranche,  and  William 
Penn.  From  early  childhood  he  was  trained  to 
war  :  we  find  him  at  fourteen  pronounced  by 
his  tutors  fit  to  command  an  army ;  at  fifteen, 
bearing  away  the  palm  in  one  of  the  last  of 
the  tournaments ;  at  sixteen,  fighting  beside 
the  young  Turenne  in  the  Low  Countries ;  at 
nineteen,  heading  the  advance  guard  in  the 
army  of  the  Prince  of  Orange ;  and  at  twenty- 
three  we  find  him  appearing  in  England,  the 
day  before  the  royal  standard  was  reared,  and 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      21 

the  day  after  the  King  lost  Coventry.  This 
training  made  him  a  general  —  not,  as  many 
have  supposed,  a  mere  cavalry  captain  ;  he  was 
one  of  the  few  men  who  have  shown  great 
military  powers  on  both  land  and  sea ;  he  was  a 
man  of  energy  unbounded,  industry  inexhaust 
ible,  and  the  most  comprehensive  and  system 
atic  forethought.  It  was  not  merely  that,  as 
Warwick  said,  "he  put  that  spirit  into  the 
King's  army  that  all  men  seemed  resolved ; " 
not  merely  that,  always  charging  at  the  head 
of  his  troops,  he  was  never  wounded,  and  that, 
seeing  more  service  than  any  of  his  compeers, 
he  outlived  them  all.  But  even  in  these  early 
years,  before  he  was  generalissimo,  the  Parlia 
ment  deliberately  declared  the  whole  war  to  be 
"managed  by  his  skill,  labor,  and  industry," 
and  his  was  the  only  name  habitually  printed 
in  capitals  in  the  Puritan  newspapers.  He  had 
to  create  soldiers  by  enthusiasm,  and  feed  them 
by  stratagem;  to  toil  for  a  king  who  feared 
him,  and  against  a  queen  who  hated  him  ;  to 
take  vast  responsibilities  alone ;  accused  of  neg 
ligence  if  he  failed,  reproached  with  license  if 
he  succeeded.  Against  him  he  had  the  wealth 
of  London,  intrusted  to  men  who  were  great 
diplomatists  though  new  to  power,  and  great 
soldiers  though  they  had  never  seen  a  battle 
field  till  middle  life ;  on  his  side  he  had  only 


22    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

unmanageable  lords  and  penniless  gentlemen, 
who  gained  victories  by  daring,  and  then  wasted 
them  by  license.  His  troops  had  no  tents,  no 
wagons,  no  military  stores ;  they  used  those  of 
the  enemy.  Clarendon  says,  that  the  King's 
cause  labored  under  an  incurable  disease  of 
want  of  money,  and  that  the  only  cure  for  star 
vation  was  a  victory.  To  say,  therefore,  that 
Rupert's  men  never  starved  is  to  say  that  they 
always  conquered,  —  which,  at  this  early  period, 
was  true. 

He  was  the  best  shot  in  the  army,  and  the 
best  tennis-player  among  the  courtiers,  and 
Pepys  calls  him  "the  boldest  attacker  in  Eng 
land  for  personal  courage."  Seemingly  with 
out  reverence  or  religion,  he  yet  ascribed  his 
defeats  to  Satan,  and,  at  the  close  of  a  letter 
about  a  marauding  expedition,  requested  his 
friend  Will  Legge  to  pray  for  him.  Versed  in 
all  the  courtly  society  of  the  age,  chosen  inter 
preter  for  the  wooing  of  young  Prince  Charles 
and  La  Grande  Mademoiselle,  and  mourning  in 
purple,  with  the  royal  family,  for  Marie  de 
Medicis,  he  could  yet  mingle  in  any  conceiv 
able  company  and  assume  any  part.  He  pene 
trated  the  opposing  camp  at  Dunsmore  Heath 
as  an  apple-seller,  and  the  hostile  town  of  War 
wick  as  a  dealer  in  cabbage-nets,  and  the  pam 
phleteers  were  never  weary  of  describing  his 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      23 

disguises.  He  was  charged  with  all  manner  of 
offences,  even  to  slaying  children  with  cannibal 
intent,  and  only  very  carelessly  disavowed  such 
soft  impeachments.  But  no  man  could  deny 
that  he  was  perfectly  true  to  his  word;  he 
never  forgot  one  whom  he  had  promised  to 
protect,  and,  if  he  had  promised  to  strip  a 
man's  goods,  he  did  it  to  the  uttermost  far 
thing.  And  so  must  his  pledge  of  vengeance 
be  redeemed  to-night ;  and  so,  riding  eastward, 
with  the  dying  sunlight  behind  him  and  the 
quiet  Chiltern  hills  before,  through  air  softened 
by  the  gathering  coolness  of  these  midsummer 
eves,  beside  clover  fields,  and  hedges  of  wild 
roses,  and  ponds  white  with  closing  water-lilies, 
and  pastures  sprinkled  with  meadow-sweet,  like 
foam,  he  muses  only  of  the  clash  of  sword  and 
the  sharp  rattle  of  shot,  and  all  the  passionate 
joys  of  the  coming  charge. 


Ill 

THE   FORAY 

The  long  and  picturesque  array  winds  on 
ward,  crossing  Chiselhampton  Bridge,  —  not  to 
be  recrossed  so  easily,  —  avoiding  Thame  with 
its  church  and  abbey,  where  Lord-General  Es 
sex  himself  is  quartered,  unconscious  of  their 


24    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

march ;  and  the  Cavaliers  are  soon  riding  be 
neath  the  bases  of  the  wooded  hills  towards 
Postcombe.  Near  Tetsworth,  the  enemy's  first 
outpost,  they  halt  till  evening ;  the  horsemen 
dismount,  the  flagon  and  the  foraging-bag  are 
opened,  the  black-jack  and  the  manchet  go 
round,  healths  are  drunk  to  successes  past  and 
glories  future,  to  "  Queen  Mary's  eyes,"  and  to 
"Prince  Rupert's  dog."  A  few  hours  bring 
darkness  ;  they  move  on  eastward  through  the 
lanes,  avoiding,  when  possible,  the  Roman  high 
ways  ;  they  are  sometimes  fired  upon  by  a 
picket,  but  make  no  return,  for  they  are  hurry 
ing  past  the  main  quarters  of  the  enemy.  In 
the  silence  of  the  summer  night,  they  stealthily 
ride  miles  and  miles  through  a  hostile  country, 
the  renegade  Urry  guiding  them.  At  early 
dawn,  they  see,  through  the  misty  air,  the  low 
hamlet  of  Postcombe,  where  the  "beating  up 
of  the  enemy's  quarters"  is  to  begin.  A 
hurried  word  of  command ;  the  infantry  halt ; 
the  cavalry  close  and  sweep  down  like  night- 
hawks  upon  the  sleeping  village,  —  safe  enough, 
one  would  have  supposed,  with  the  whole  Par 
liamentary  army  lying  between  it  and  Oxford, 
to  protect  from  danger.  Yet  the  small  party  of 
Puritan  troopers  awaken  in  their  quarters  with 
Rupert  at  the  door ;  it  is  well  for  them  that 
they  happen  to  be  picked  men,  and  have 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      25 

promptness,  if  not  vigilance ;  forming  hastily, 
they  secure  a  retreat  westward  through  the 
narrow  street,  leaving  but  few  prisoners  behind 
them.  As  hastily  the  prisoners  are  swept 
away  with  the  stealthy  troop,  who  have  other 
work  before  them  ;  and  before  half  the  startled 
villagers  have  opened  their  lattices  the  skirmish 
is  over.  Long  before  they  can  send  a  messen 
ger  up,  over  the  hills,  to  sound  the  alarm-bells 
of  Stoken  Church,  the  swift  gallop  of  the  Cava 
liers  has  reached  Chinnor,  two  miles  away,  and 
the  goal  of  their  foray.  The  compact,  strongly 
built  village  is  surrounded.  They  form  a 
parallel  line  behind  the  houses,  on  each  side, 
leaping  fences  and  ditches  to  their  posts.  They 
break  down  the  iron  chains  stretched  nightly 
across  each  end  of  the  street,  and  line  it  from 
end  to  end.  Rupert,  Will  Legge,  and  the  "  for 
lorn  hope,"  dismounting,  rush  in  upon  the  quar 
ters,  sparing  only  those  who  surrender. 

In  five  minutes  the  town  is  up.  The  awak 
ened  troopers  fight  as  desperately  as  their  as 
sailants,  some  on  foot,  some  on  horseback. 
More  and  more  of  Rupert's  men  rush  in  ;  they 
fight  through  the  straggling  street  of  the  vil 
lage,  from  the  sign  of  the  Ram  at  one  end  to 
that  of  the  Crown  at  the  other,  and  then  back 
again.  The  citizens  join  against  the  invaders, 
the  'prentices  rush  from  their  attics,  hasty 


26    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

barricades  of  carts  and  harrows  are  formed  in 
the  streets,  long  musket-barrels  are  thrust  from 
the  windows,  dark  groups  cluster  on  the  roofs, 
and  stones  begin  to  rattle  on  the  heads  below, 
together  with  phrases  more  galling  than  stones, 
—  hurled  down  by  women,  —  "  cursed  dogs," 
"  devilish  Cavaliers,"  "  Papist  traitors."  In 
return,  the  intruders  shoot  at  the  windows  in 
discriminately,  storm  the  doors,  fire  the  houses ; 
they  grow  more  furious,  and  spare  nothing ; 
some  townspeople  retreat  within  the  church- 
doors  ;  the  doors  are  beaten  in ;  women  barri 
cade  them  with  wool-packs,  and  fight  over  them 
with  muskets,  barrel  to  barrel.  Outside,  the 
troopers  ride  round  and  round  the  town,  seiz 
ing  or  slaying  all  who  escape  ;  within,  desperate 
men  still  aim  from  their  windows,  though  the 
houses  on  each  side  are  in  flames.  Melting 
lead  pours  down  from  the  blazing  roofs,  while 
the  drum  still  beats  and  the  flag  still  advances. 
It  is  struck  down  presently  ;  tied  to  a  broken 
pike-staff,  it  rises  again,  while  a  chaos  of  armor 
and  plumes,  black  and  orange,  blue  and  red, 
torn  laces  and  tossing  feathers,  powder-stains 
and  blood-stains,  fills  the  dewy  morning  with 
terror,  and  opens  the  June  Sunday  with  sin. 

Threescore  and  more  of  the  townspeople  are 
slain,  sixscore  are  led  away  at  the  horses'  sides 
bound  with  ropes,  to  be  handed  over  to  the 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      27 

infantry  for  keeping.  Some  of  these  prisoners, 
even  of  the  armed  troopers,  are  so  ignorant  and 
unwarlike  as  yet,  that  they  know  not  the  mean 
ing  of  the  word  "  quarter,"  refusing  it  when  of 
fered,  and  imploring  "mercy"  instead.  Others 
are  little  children,  for  whom  a  heavy  ransom 
shall  yet  be  paid.  Others,  cheaper  prisoners, 
are  ransomed  on  the  spot.  Some  plunder  has 
also  been  taken,  but  the  soldiers  look  longingly 
on  the  larger  wealth  that  must  be  left  behind, 
in  the  hurry  of  retreat,  —  treasures  that  other 
wise  no  trooper  of  Rupert's  would  have  spared : 
scarlet  cloth,  bedding,  saddles,  cutlery,  iron 
ware,  hats,  shoes,  hops  for  beer,  and  books  to 
sell  to  the  Oxford  scholars.  But  the  daring 
which  has  given  them  victory  now  makes  their 
danger  :  they  have  been  nearly  twelve  hours  in 
the  saddle  and  have  fought  two  actions ;  they 
have  twenty-five  miles  to  ride,  with  the  whole 
force  of  the  enemy  in  their  path ;  they  came 
unseen  in  the  darkness,  they  must  return  by 
daylight  and  with  the  alarm  already  given ; 
Stoken  church-bell  has  been  pealing  for  hours, 
the  troop  from  Postcombe  has  fallen  back  on 
Tetsworth,  and  everywhere  in  the  distance 
videttes  are  hurrying  from  post  to  post. 

The  perilous  retreat  begins.  Ranks  are 
closed  ;  they  ride  silently ;  many  a  man  leads 
a  second  horse  beside  him,  and  one  bears  in 


28     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

triumph  the  great  captured  Puritan  standard, 
with  its  five  buff  Bibles  on  a  black  ground. 
They  choose  their  course  more  carefully  than 
ever,  seek  the  by-lanes,  and  swim  the  rivers 
with  their  swords  between  their  teeth.  At  one 
point,  in  their  hushed  progress,  they  hear  the 
sound  of  rattling  wagons.  There  is  a  treasure- 
train  within  their  reach,  worth  twenty-one 
thousand  pounds,  and  destined  for  the  Parlia 
mentary  camp,  but  the  thick  woods  of  the 
Chilterns  have  sheltered  it  from  pursuit,  and 
they  have  not  a  moment  to  waste ;  they  are 
riding  for  their  lives.  Already  the  gathering 
parties  of  Roundheads  are  closing  upon  them, 
nearer  and  nearer,  as  they  approach  the  most 
perilous  point  of  the  wild  expedition,  —  their 
only  return-path  across  the  Cherwell,  —  Chisel- 
hampton  Bridge.  Percy  and  O'Neal  with  diffi 
culty  hold  the  assailants  in  check ;  the  case 
grows  desperate  at  last,  and  Rupert  stands  at 
bay  on  Chalgrove  Field. 

It  is  Sunday  morning,  June  18,  1643.  The 
early  church-bells  are  ringing  over  all  Oxford 
shire,  —  dying  away  in  the  soft  air,  among 
the  sunny  English  hills,  while  Englishmen  are 
drawing  near  one  another  with  hatred  in  their 
hearts  ;  dying  away,  as  on  that  other  Sunday, 
eight  months  ago,  when  Baxter,  preaching  near 
Edgehill,  heard  the  sounds  of  battle,  and  dis- 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      29 

turbed  the  rest  of  his  saints  by  exclaiming, 
"  To  the  fight ! "  But  here  are  no  warrior 
preachers,  no  bishops  praying  in  surplices  on 
the  one  side,  no  dark-robed  divines  preaching 
on  horseback  on  the  other,  no  king  in  glittering 
armor,  no  Tutor  Harvey  in  peaceful  meditation 
beneath  a  hedge,  pondering  on  the  circulation 
of  the  blood,  with  hotter  blood  flowing  so  near 
him  ;  all  these  were  to  be  seen  at  Edgehill,  but 
not  here.  This  smaller  skirmish  rather  turns 
our  thoughts  to  Cisatlantic  associations ;  its 
date  suggests  Bunker's  Hill,  and  its  circum 
stances  Lexington.  For  this,  also,  is  a  maraud 
ing  party,  with  a  Percy  among  its  officers, 
brought  to  a  stand  by  a  half -armed  and  angry 
peasantry. 

Rupert  sends  his  infantry  forward  to  secure 
the  bridge,  and  a  sufficient  body  of  dragoons  to 
line  the  mile  and  a  half  of  road  between,  —  the 
remainder  of  the  troops  being  drawn  up  at  the 
entrance  of  a  cornfield,  several  hundred  acres 
in  extent,  and  lying  between  the  villages  and 
the  hills.  The  Puritans  take  a  long  circuit,  en 
deavoring  to  get  to  windward  of  their  formid 
able  enemy,  —  a  point  judged  as  important, 
during  the  seventeenth  century,  in  a  land  fight 
as  in  a  naval  engagement.  They  have  with 
them  some  light  field-pieces,  artillery  being  the 
only  point  of  superiority  they  yet  claim;  but 


30     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

these  are  not  basilisks,  nor  falconets,  nor  cul- 
verins  (colubri,  couleuvres),  nor  drakes  (dra- 
cones),  nor  warning-pieces,  —  they  are  the  leath 
ern  guns  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  made  of  light 
cast-iron  and  bound  with  ropes  and  leather. 
The  Roundhead  dragoons,  dismounted,  line  a 
hedge  near  the  Cavaliers,  and  plant  their 
"  swine  feathers  ; "  under  cover  of  their  fire  the 
horse  advance  in  line,  matches  burning.  As 
they  advance,  one  or  two  dash  forward,  at  risk 
of  their  lives,  flinging  off  the  orange  scarfs 
which  alone  distinguish  them,  in  token  that  they 
desert  to  the  royal  cause.  Prince  Rupert  falls 
back  into  the  lane  a  little,  to  lead  the  other 
forces  into  his  ambush  of  dragoons.  These 
tactics  do  not  come  naturally  to  him,  however ; 
nor  does  he  like  the  practice  of  the  time,  that 
two  bodies  of  cavalry  should  ride  up  within 
pistol-shot  of  each  other,  and  exchange  a  volley 
before  they  charge.  He  rather  anticipates,  in 
his  style  of  operations,  the  famous  order  of 
Frederick  the  Great :  "  The  King  hereby  for 
bids  all  officers  of  cavalry,  on  pain  of  being 
broke  with  ignominy,  ever  to  allow  themselves 
to  be  attacked  in  any  action  by  the  enemy ; 
but  the  Prussians  must  always  attack  them." 
Accordingly  he  restrains  himself  for  a  little 
while,  chafing  beneath  the  delay,  and  then,  a 
soldier  or  two  being  suddenly  struck  down  by 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      31 

the  fire,  he  exclaims,  "  Yea !   this  insolency  is 
not  to  be  endured."     The  moment  is  come. 

"  God  and  Queen  Mary !  "  shouts  Rupert ; 
"  Charge  !  "  In  one  instant  that  motionless 
mass  becomes  a  flood  of  lava ;  down  in  one 
terrible  sweep  it  comes,  silence  behind  it  and 
despair  before ;  no  one  notices  the  beauty  of 
that  brilliant  chivalrous  array,  —  all  else  is 
merged  in  the  fury  of  the  wild  gallop ;  spurs 
are  deep,  reins  free,  blades  grasped,  heads  bent ; 
the  excited  horse  feels  the  heel  no  more  than 
he  feels  the  hand  ;  the  uneven  ground  breaks 
their  ranks, — no  matter,  they  feel  that  they 
can  ride  down  the  world  :  Rupert  first  clears 
the  hedge,  —  he  is  always  first,  —  then  comes 
the  captain  of  his  life-guard,  then  the  whole 
troop  "jumble  after  them,"  in  a  spectator's 
piquant  phrase.  The  dismounted  Puritan  dra 
goons  break  from  the  hedges  and  scatter  for 
their  lives,  but  the  cavalry  "bear  the  charge 
better  than  they  have  done  since  Worcester," 
—  that  is,  now  they  stand  it  an  instant,  then 
they  did  not  stand  it  at  all ;  the  Prince  takes 
them  in  flank  and  breaks  them  in  pieces  at  the 
first  encounter,  —  the  very  wind  of  the  charge 
shatters  them.  Horse  and  foot,  carbines  and 
petronels,  swords  and  pole-axes,  are  mingled 
in  one  struggling  mass.  Rupert  and  his  men 
seem  refreshed,  not  exhausted,  by  the  weary 


32     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

night ;  they  seem  incapable  of  fatigue ;  they 
spike  the  guns  as  they  cut  down  the  gunners, 
and,  if  any  escape,  it  is  because  many  in  both 
armies  wear  the  same  red  scarfs.  One  Puritan, 
surrounded  by  the  enemy,  shows  such  desperate 
daring  that  Rupert  bids  release  him  at  last,  and 
sends  afterwards  to  Essex  to  ask  his  name. 
One  Cavalier  bends,  with  a  wild  oath,  to  search 
the  pockets  of  a  slain  enemy  —  it  is  his  own 
brother.  O'Neal  slays  a  standard-bearer,  and 
thus  restores  to  his  company  the  right  to  bear 
a  flag  —  a  right  they  lost  at  Hopton  Heath ; 
Legge  is  taken  prisoner  and  escapes  ;  Urry 
proves  himself  no  coward,  though  a  renegade, 
and  is  trusted  to  bear  to  Oxford  the  news  of  the 
victory,  being  raised  to  knighthood  in  return. 

For  a  victory  of  course  it  is.  Nothing  in 
England  can  yet  resist  these  high-born,  disso 
lute,  reckless  Cavaliers  of  Rupert's.  "I  have 
seen  them  running  up  walls  twenty  feet  high," 
said  the  engineer  consulted  by  the  frightened 
citizens  of  Dorchester ;  "  these  defences  of 
yours  may  possibly  keep  them  out  half  an  hour." 
Darlings  of  triumphant  aristocracy,  they  are 
destined  to  meet  with  no  foe  that  can  match 
them,  until  they  recoil  at  last  before  the  ple 
beian  pikes  of  the  London  train-bands.  Nor 
can  even  Rupert's  men  claim  to  monopolize  the 
courage  of  the  King's  party.  The  brilliant 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      33 

"  show-troop  "  of  Lord  Bernard  Stuart,  compris 
ing  the  young  nobles  having  no  separate  com 
mand,  —  a  troop  which  could  afford  to  indulge 
in  all  the  gorgeousness  of  dress,  since  their 
united  incomes,  Clarendon  declares,  would  have 
exceeded  those  of  the  whole  Puritan  Parliament, 
—  led,  by  their  own  desire,  the  triumphant 
charge  at  Edgehill,  and  threescore  of  their 
bodies  were  found  piled  on  the  spot  where  the 
Royal  Standard  was  captured  and  rescued.  Not 
less  faithful  were  the  Marquis  of  Newcastle's 
"  Lambs,"  who  took  their  name  from  the  white 
woollen  clothing  which  they  refused  to  have 
dyed,  saying  that  their  hearts'  blood  would  dye 
it  soon  enough  ;  and  so  it  did  :  only  thirty  sur 
vived  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor,  and  the  bodies 
of  the  rest  were  found  in  the  field,  ranked 
regularly  side  by  side,  in  death  as  in  life. 

But  here  at  Chalgrove  Field  no  such  fortitude 
of  endurance  is  needed  ;  the  enemy  is  scattered, 
and,  as  Rupert's  Cavaliers  are  dashing  on,  a 
small,  but  fresh  force  of  Puritan  cavalry  appears 
behind  the  hedges  and  charges  on  them  from 
the  right,  —  two  troops,  hastily  gathered,  and 
in  various  garb.  They  are  headed  by  a  man  in 
middle  life  and  of  noble  aspect :  once  seen,  he 
cannot  easily  be  forgotten ;  but  seen  he  will 
never  be  again,  and,  for  the  last  time,  Rupert 
and  Hampden  meet  face  to  face. 


34    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

The  foremost  representative  men  of  their  re 
spective  parties,  they  scarcely  remember,  per 
haps,  that  there  are  ties  and  coincidences  in 
their  lives.  At  the  marriage  of  Rupert's  mother, 
the  student  Hampden  was  chosen  to  write  the 
Oxford  epithalamium,  exulting  in  the  prediction 
of  some  noble  offspring  to  follow  such  a  union. 
Rupert  is  about  to  be  made  General-in-Chief  of 
the  Cavaliers  ;  Hampden  is  looked  to  by  all  as 
the  future  General-in-Chief  of  the  Puritans. 
Rupert  is  the  nephew  of  the  King,  —  Hampden 
the  cousin  of  Cromwell ;  and  as  the  former  is 
believed  to  be  aiming  at  the  Crown,  so  the  lat 
ter  is  the  only  possible  rival  of  Cromwell  for 
the  Protectorate,  —  "  the  eyes  of  all  being  fixed 
upon  him  as  their  pater  patrice"  But  in  all 
the  greater  qualities  of  manhood,  how  far  must 
Hampden  be  placed  above  the  magnificent  and 
gifted  Rupert !  In  a  congress  of  natural  noble 
men —  for  such  do  the  men  of  the  Common 
wealth  appear  —  Hampden  must  rank  foremost. 
It  is  difficult  to  avoid  exaggeration  in  speaking 
of  these  men,  —  men  whose  deeds  vindicate  their 
words,  and  whose  words  are  unsurpassed  by 
Greek  or  Roman  fame,  —  men  whom  even 
Hume  can  only  criticise  for  a  "mysterious  jar 
gon  "  which  most  of  them  did  not  use,  and  for 
a  "vulgar  hypocrisy"  which  few  of  them  prac 
tised.  Let  us  not  underrate  the  self-forgetting 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      35 

loyalty  of  the  Royalists,  —  the  Duke  of  New 
castle  laying  at  the  King's  feet  seven  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  and  the  Marquis  of  Worcester 
a  million  ;  but  the  sublimer  poverty  and  absti 
nence  of  the  Parliamentary  party  deserve  a  yet 
loftier  meed,  Vane  surrendering  an  office  of 
thirty  thousand  pounds  a  year  to  promote  pub 
lic  economy,  Hutchinson  refusing  a  peerage 
and  a  fortune  as  a  bribe  to  hold  Nottingham 
Castle  a  little  while  for  the  King,  Eliot  and 
Pym  bequeathing  their  families  to  the  nation's 
justice,  having  spent  their  all  for  the  good  cause. 
And  rising  to  yet  higher  attributes,  as  they  pass 
before  us  in  the  brilliant  paragraphs  of  the 
courtly  Clarendon,  or  the  juster  modern  esti 
mates  of  Forster,  it  seems  like  a  procession  of 
born  sovereigns ;  while  the  more  pungent  epi 
thets  of  contemporary  wit  only  familiarize,  but 
do  not  mar,  the  fame  of  Cromwell  (Cleaveland's 
"  Caesar  in  a  Clown "),  "  William  the  Con 
queror  "  Waller,  "  young  Harry  "  Vane,  "  fiery 
Tom  "  Fairfax,  and  "  King  Pym."  But  among 
all  these  there  is  no  peer  of  Hampden,  of  him 
who  came  not  from  courts  or  camps,  but  from 
the  tranquil  study  of  his  Davila,  —  from  that 
thoughtful  retirement  which  was  for  him,  as 
for  his  model,  Coligny,  the  school  of  all  noble 
virtues,  —  came  to  find  himself  at  once  a  states 
man  and  a  soldier,  receiving  from  his  con- 


36    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

temporary,  Clarendon,  no  affectionate  critic, 
the  triple  crown  of  historic  praise,  as  being 
"the  most  able,  resolute,  and  popular  person 
in  the  kingdom."  Who  can  tell  how  changed 
the  destiny  of  England,  had  the  Earl  of  Bed 
ford's  first  compromise  with  the  country  party 
succeeded,  and  had  Hampden  become  the  tutor 
of  Prince  Charles ;  or  could  this  fight  at  Chal- 
grove  Field  issue  differently,  and  Hampden  sur 
vive  to  be  general  instead  of  Essex,  and  Pro 
tector  in  place  of  Cromwell  ? 

But  that  may  not  be.  Had  Hampden's  ear 
lier  counsels  prevailed,  Rupert  never  would  have 
ventured  on  his  night  foray ;  had  his  next  sug 
gestions  been  followed,  Rupert  never  would 
have  returned  from  it.  Those  failing,  Hamp 
den  has  come,  gladly  followed  by  Gunter  and 
his  dragoons,  outstripping  the  tardy  Essex,  to 
dare  all  and  die.  In  vain  does  Gunter  perish 
beside  his  flag ;  in  vain  does  Crosse,  his  horse 
being  killed  under  him,  spring  in  the  midst  of 
battle  on  another;  in  vain  does  "that  great- 
spirited  little  Sir  Samuel  Luke  "  —  the  original 
of  Hudibras  —  get  thrice  captured  and  thrice 
escape.  For  Hampden,  the  hope  of  the  nation, 
is  fatally  shot  through  the  shoulder  with  two  car 
bine-balls  in  the  first  charge  ;  the  whole  troop 
sees  it  with  dismay  ;  Essex  comes  up,  as  usual, 
too  late,  and  the  fight  of  Chalgrove  Field  is  lost. 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      37 

We  must  leave  this  picture,  painted  in  the 
fading  colors  of  a  far-off  time.  Let  us  leave 
the  noble  Hampden,  weak  and  almost  fainting, 
riding  calmly  from  the  field,  and  wandering  away 
over  his  own  Chiltern  meadows,  that  he  loves  so 
well,  —  leave  him,  drooping  over  his  saddle,  di 
recting  his  horse  first  towards  his  father-in-law's 
house  at  Pyrton,  where  once  he  wedded  his 
youthful  bride,  then  turning  towards  Thame, 
and  mustering  his  last  strength  to  leap  his  tired 
steed  across  its  boundary  brook.  A  few  days 
of  laborious  weakness,  spent  in  letter-writing  to 
urge  upon  Parliament  something  of  that  military 
energy  which,  if  earlier  adopted,  might  have 
saved  his  life,  —  and  we  see  a  last  funereal  pro 
cession  winding  beneath  the  Chiltern  hills,  and 
singing  the  QOth  Psalm  as  the  mourners  ap 
proach  the  tomb  of  the  Hampdens,  and  the  43d 
as  they  return.  And  well  may  the  "  Weekly 
Intelligencer"  say  of  him  (June  27,  1643),  that 
"  the  memory  of  this  deceased  Colonel  is  such 
that  in  no  age  to  come  but  it  will  more  and 
more  be  had  in  honor  and  esteem ;  a  man  so 
religious,  and  of  that  prudence,  judgment,  tem 
per,  valor,  and  integrity,  that  he  hath  left  few 
his  like  behind  him." 

And  we  must  leave  Rupert  to  his  career  of 
romantic  daring,  to  be  made  President  of  Wales 
and  Generalissimo  of  the  army ;  to  rescue  with 


38     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

unequalled  energy  Newark  and  York  and  the 
besieged  heroine  of  Lathom  House;  to  fight 
through  Newbury  and  Marston  Moor  and 
Naseby,  and  many  a  lesser  field ;  to  surrender 
Bristol  and  be  acquitted  by  court-martial,  but 
hopelessly  condemned  by  the  King ;  —  then  to 
leave  the  kingdom,  refusing  a  passport,  and 
fighting  his  perilous  way  to  the  seaside ;  then 
to  wander  over  the  world  for  years,  astonishing 
Dutchmen  by  his  seamanship,  Austrians  by 
his  soldiership,  Spaniards  and  Portuguese  by  his 
buccaneering  powers,  and  Frenchmen  by  his 
gold  and  diamonds  and  birds  and  monkeys  and 
"  richly  liveried  Blackamoors ; "  then  to  reor 
ganize  the  navy  of  England,  exchanging  charac 
ters  with  his  fellow-commander,  Monk,  whom 
the  ocean  makes  rash,  as  it  makes  Rupert  pru 
dent  ;  —  leave  him  to  use  nobly  his  declining 
years,  in  studious  toils  in  Windsor  Castle,  the 
fulfilment  of  Milton's  dream,  outwatching  the 
Bear  with  thrice-great  Hermes,  surrounded  by 
strange  old  arms  and  instruments,  and  maps  of 
voyages,  and  plans  of  battles,  and  the  abstruse 
library  which  the  "  Harleian  Miscellany  "  still 
records  ;  leave  him  to  hunt  and  play  at  tennis, 
serve  in  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  the 
Board  of  Trade ;  leave  him  to  experiment  in 
alchemy  and  astrology,  in  hydraulics,  metal 
lurgy,  gunpowder,  perspective,  quadrants,  mez- 


A  CHARGE  WITH  PRINCE  RUPERT      39 

zotint,  fish-hooks,  and  revolvers ;  leave  him  to 
look  from  his  solitary  turret  over  hills  and 
fields,  now  peaceful,  but  each  the  scene  of  some 
wild  and  warlike  memory  for  him  ;  —  leave  him 
to  die  a  calm  and  honored  death  at  sixty-three, 
outliving  every  companion  of  his  early  days. 
The  busy  world,  which  has  no  time  to  remember 
many,  forgets  him  and  recalls  only  the  slain  and 
defeated  Hampden.  The  brilliant  renown  of 
the  Prince  was  like  the  glass  toys  which  record 
his  ingenuity  and  preserve  his  name  ;  the  ham 
mer  and  the  anvil  can  scarcely  mar  them,  yet  a 
slight  pressure  of  the  finger,  in  the  fatal  spot, 
will  burst  them  into  glittering  showers  of  dust. 
The  full  force  of  those  iron  times  beat  ineffec 
tual  upon  Rupert ;  Death  touched  him,  and 
that  shining  fame  sparkled  and  was  shattered 
forever. 


MADEMOISELLE'S   CAMPAIGNS 
I 

THE  SCENE  AND  THE  ACTORS 

THE  heroine  of  this  tale  is  one  so  famous  in 
history  that  her  proper  name  scarcely  appears 
in  it.  The  seeming  paradox  is  the  soberest 
fact.  To  us  Americans  glory  lies  in  the  abun 
dant  display  of  one's  personal  appellation  in  the 
newspapers.  Our  heroine  lived  in  the  most 
gossiping  of  all  ages,  herself  its  greatest  gossip ; 
yet  her  own  name,  patronymic  or  baptismal, 
never  was  talked  about.  It  was  not  that  she 
sunk  that  name  beneath  high-sounding  titles  ; 
she  only  elevated  the  most  commonplace  of  all 
titles  till  she  monopolized  it  and  it  monopolized 
her.  Anne  Marie  Louise  d' Orleans,  Souver- 
aine  de  Dombes,  Princesse  Dauphine  d'Au- 
vergne,  Duchesse  de  Montpensier,  is  forgotten, 
or  rather  was  never  remembered  ;  but  the  great 
name  of  MADEMOISELLE,  La  Grande  Mademoi 
selle,  gleams  like  a  golden  thread  shot  through 
and  through  that  gorgeous  tapestry  of  crimson 
and  purple  which  records  for  us  the  age  of 
Louis  Quatorze. 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          41 

In  May  of  the  year  1627,  while  the  slow  tide 
of  events  was  drawing  Charles  I.  toward  his 
scaffold  ;  while  Sir  John  Eliot  was  awaiting  in 
the  Tower  of  London  the  summoning  of  the 
Third  Parliament ;  while  the  troops  of  Buck 
ingham  lay  dying,  without  an  enemy,  upon  the 
Isle  of  Rh6,  — at  the  very  crisis  of  the  terrible 
siege  of  Rochelle,  and  perhaps  during  the  very 
hour  when  the  Three  Guardsmen  of  Dumas  held 
that  famous  bastion  against  an  army,  the  hero 
ine  of  our  story  was  born.  And  she,  like  the 
Three  Guardsmen,  waited  till  twenty  years 
after  for  a  career. 

The  twenty  years  are  over.  Richelieu  is 
dead.  The  strongest  will  that  ever  ruled  France 
has  passed  away;  and  the  poor,  broken  King 
has  hunted  his  last  badger  at  St.  Germain,  and 
then  meekly  followed  his  master  to  the  grave, 
as  he  has  always  followed  him.  Louis  XIIL, 
called  Louis  le  Juste,  not  from  the  predomi 
nance  of  that  particular  virtue,  or  any  other, 
in  his  character,  but  simply  because  he  hap 
pened  to  be  born  under  the  constellation  of  the 
Scales,  has  died  like  a  Frenchman,  in  peace  with 
all  the  world  except  his  wife.  That  beautiful 
and  queenly  wife,  called  Anne  of  Austria, — 
though  a  Spaniard,  —  no  longer  the  wild  and 
passionate  girl  who  fascinated  Buckingham  and 
embroiled  two  kingdoms,  —  has  hastened  within 


42     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

four  days  to  defy  all  the  dying  imprecations  of 
her  husband,  by  reversing  every  plan  and  every 
appointment  he  has  made.  The  little  prince 
has  already  shown  all  the  Grand  Monarque  in 
his  childish  "  Je  suis  Louis  Quatorze,"  and  has 
been  carried  in  his  bib  to  hold  his  first  Par 
liament.  That  Parliament,  heroic  as  its  Eng 
lish  contemporary,  though  less  successful,  has 
reached  the  point  of  revolution  at  last.  Civil 
war  is  impending.  Conde",  at  twenty-one  the 
greatest  general  in  Europe,  after  changing  sides 
a  hundred  times  in  a  week,  is  fixed  at  last. 
Turenne  is  arrayed  against  him.  The  young, 
the  brave,  the  beautiful  cluster  around  them. 
The  performers  are  drawn  up  in  line ;  the 
curtain  rises ;  the  play  is  "  The  Wars  of  the 
Fronde ; "  and  into  that  brilliant  arena,  like 
some  fair  circus  equestrian,  gay,  spangled,  and 
daring,  rides  Mademoiselle. 

Almost  all  French  historians  from  Voltaire 
to  Cousin  —  St.  Aulaire  being  the  chief  excep 
tion  —  speak  lightly  of  the  Wars  of  the  Fronde. 
"  La  Fronde  n'est  pas  seYieuse."  Of  course  it 
was  not.  Had  it  been  wholly  serious,  it  would 
not  have  been  wholly  French.  Of  course 
French  insurrections,  like  French  despotisms, 
have  always  been  tempered  by  epigrams ;  of 
course  the  people  went  out  to  the  conflicts  in 
ribbons  and  feathers ;  of  course  over  every  bat- 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          43 

tie  there  pelted  down  a  shower  of  satire,  like 
the  rain  at  the  Eglinton  tournament.  More 
than  two  hundred  pamphlets  rattled  on  the 
head  of  Cond6  alone,  and  the  collection  of 
Mazarinades,  preserved  by  the  Cardinal  him 
self,  fills  sixty-nine  volumes  in  quarto.  From 
every  field  the  first  crop  was  glory,  the  second 
a  bon  mot.  When  the  dagger  of  De  Retz  fell 
from  his  breast-pocket,  it  was  "  our  good  arch 
bishop's  breviary ;  "  and  when  his  famous  Cor 
inthian  troop  was  defeated  in  battle,  it  was 
"the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians."  While 
across  the  Channel  Charles  Stuart  was  listen 
ing  to  his  doom,  Paris  was  gay  in  the  midst  of 
dangers,  Madame  de  Longueville  was  receiving 
her  gallants  in  mimic  court  at  the  H6tel  de 
Ville,  De  Retz  was  wearing  his  sword-belt  over 
his  archbishop's  gown,  the  little  hunchback 
Conti  was  generalissimo,  and  the  starving  peo 
ple  were  pillaging  Mazarin's  library,  in  joke, 
"to  find  something  to  gnaw  upon."  Outside 
the  walls,  the  maids  of  honor  were  quarrelling 
over  the  straw  beds  which  destroyed  for  them 
all  the  romance  of  martyrdom,  and  Cond6,  with 
five  thousand  men,  was  besieging  five  hundred 
thousand.  No  matter,  they  all  laughed  through 
it,  and  through  every  succeeding  turn  of  the 
kaleidoscope  ;  and  the  "  Anything  may  happen 
in  France  "  (Tout  arrive  en  France),  with  which 


44    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

La  Rochefoucauld  jumped  amicably  into  the 
carriage  of  his  mortal  enemy,  was  not  only  the 
first  and  best  of  his  maxims,  but  the  keynote 
of  French  history  for  all  coming  time. 

But  behind  all  this  sport,  as  in  all  the  annals 
of  the  nation,  were  mysteries  and  terrors  and 
crimes.  It  was  the  age  of  cabalistic  ciphers, 
like  that  of  De  Retz,  of  which  Guy  Joli  dreamed 
the  solution  ;  of  inexplicable  secrets,  like  the 
Man  in  the  Iron  Mask,  whereof  no  solution  was 
ever  dreamed ;  of  poisons,  like  that  diamond- 
dust  which  in  six  hours  transformed  the  fresh 
beauty  of  the  Princess  Royal  into  foul  decay ; 
of  dungeons,  like  that  cell  at  Vincennes  which 
Madame  de  Rambouillet  pronounced  to  be 
"worth  its  weight  in  arsenic."  War  or  peace 
hung  on  the  color  of  a  ball-dress,  and  Madame 
de  Chevreuse  knew  which  party  was  coming 
uppermost,  by  observing  whether  the  binding 
of  Madame  de  Hautefort's  prayer-book  was  red 
or  green.  Perhaps  it  was  all  a  little  theatrical, 
but  the  performers  were  all  Rachels. 

Behind  the  crimes  and  the  frivolities,  how 
ever,  stood  the  Parliaments,  calm  and  undaunted, 
with  leaders  like  Mold  and  Talon,  who  needed 
nothing  but  success  to  make  their  names  as 
grand  in  history  as  those  of  Pym  and  Hampden. 
Among  the  Brienne  Papers  in  the  British  Mu 
seum  there  is  a  collection  of  the  manifestoes 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          45 

and  proclamations  of  that  time,  and  they  are 
earnest,  eloquent,  and  powerful,  from  begin 
ning  to  end.  Lord  Mahon  alone  among  his 
torians,  so  far  as  my  knowledge  goes,  has  done 
fit  and  full  justice  to  the  French  Parliaments, 
—  those  assemblies  which  refused  admission  to 
the  foreign  armies  which  the  nobles  would 
gladly  have  summoned  in,  but  fed  and  pro 
tected  the  banished  princesses  of  England, 
when  the  court  party  had  left  those  descend 
ants  of  the  Bourbons  to  die  of  cold  and  hunger 
in  the  palace  of  their  ancestors.  And  we  have 
the  testimony  of  Henrietta  Maria  herself,  the 
only  person  who  had  seen  both  revolutions 
near  at  hand,  that  "the  troubles  in  England 
never  appeared  so  formidable  in  their  early 
days,  nor  were  the  leaders  of  the  revolutionary 
party  so  ardent  or  so  united."  The  character 
of  the  agitation  was  no  more  to  be  judged  by 
its  jokes  and  epigrams  than  the  gloomy  glory 
of  the  English  Puritans  by  the  grotesque  names 
of  their  saints,  or  the  stern  resolution  of  the 
Dutch  burghers  by  their  symbolical  melo 
dramas  and  guilds  of  rhetoric. 

But  popular  power  was  not  yet  developed  in 
France,  as  it  was  in  England ;  all  social  order 
was  unsettled  and  changing,  and  well  Mazarin 
knew  it.  He  knew  the  pieces  with  which  he 
played  his  game  of  chess ;  the  King  powerless, 


46    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  Queen  mighty,  the  bishops  unable  to  take  a 
single  straightforward  move,  and  the  knights 
going  naturally  zigzag ;  with  a  host  of  plebeian 
pawns,  every  one  fit  for  a  possible  royalty,  and 
therefore  to  be  used  shrewdly,  or  else  annihi 
lated  as  soon  as  practicable.  True,  the  game 
would  not  last  forever  ;  but  after  him  the  deluge. 

Our  age  has  forgotten  even  the  meaning  of 
the  word  "  Fronde  ; "  but  here  also  the  French 
and  Flemish  histories  run  parallel,  and  the 
Frondeurs,  like  the  Gueux,  were  children  of  a 
sarcasm.  The  Counsellor  Bachaumont  one  day 
ridiculed  insurrectionists,  as  resembling  the  boys 
who  played  with  slings  (frondes)  about  the 
streets  of  Paris,  but  scattered  at  the  first  glimpse 
of  a  policeman.  The  phrase  organized  the  party. 
Next  morning  all  fashions  were  a  lafronde,  — 
hats,  gloves,  fans,  bread,  and  ballads ;  and  it 
cost  six  years  of  civil  war  to  pay  for  the  Coun 
sellor's  facetiousness. 

That  which  was,  after  all,  the  most  remark 
able  characteristic  of  these  wars  might  be 
guessed  from  this  fact  about  the  fashions.  The 
Fronde  was  preeminently  "the  War  of  the 
Ladies."  Educated  far  beyond  the  English 
women  of  their  day,  they  took  a  controlling 
share,  sometimes  ignoble,  often  noble,  always 
powerful,  in  the  affairs  of  the  time.  It  was  not 
merely  a  courtly  gallantry  which  flattered  them 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          47 

with  a  hollow  importance.  De  Retz,  in  his 
Memoirs,  compares  the  women  of  his  age  with 
Elizabeth  of  England.  A  Spanish  ambassador 
once  congratulated  Mazarin  on  obtaining  tem 
porary  repose.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  he  replied, 
"  there  is  no  repose  in  France,  for  I  have  always 
women  to  contend  with.  In  Spain,  women  have 
only  love  affairs  to  employ  them  ;  but  here  we 
have  three  who  are  capable  of  governing  or  over 
throwing  great  kingdoms,  —  the  Duchesse  de 
Longueville,  the  Princesse  Palatine,  and  the 
Duchesse  de  Chevreuse."  There  were  others 
as  great  as  these ;  and  the  women  who  for  years 
outwitted  Mazarin  and  outgeneralled  Cond6  are 
deserving  of  a  stronger  praise  than  they  have 
yet  obtained,  even  from  the  classic  and  courtly 
Cousin. 

What  men  of  that  age  eclipsed  or  equalled  the 
address  and  daring  of  those  delicate  and  high 
born  women  ?  What  a  romance  was  their  or 
dinary  existence  !  The  Princesse  Palatine  gave 
refuge  to  Mme.  de  Longueville  in  order  to 
save  her  from  sharing  the  imprisonment  of  her 
brothers  Cond6  and  Conti,  then  fled  for  her 
own  life,  by  night,  with  Rochefoucauld.  Mme. 
de  Longueville  herself,  pursued  afterwards  by 
the  royal  troops,  wished  to  embark  in  a  little 
boat,  on  a  dangerous  shore,  during  a  midnight 
storm  so  wild  that  not  a  fisherman  could  at  first 


48     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

be  found  to  venture  forth ;  the  beautiful  fugi 
tive  threatened  and  implored  till  they  consented  ; 
the  sailor  who  bore  her  in  his  arms  to  the  boat 
let  her  fall  amid  the  furious  surges ;  she  was 
dragged  senseless  to  the  shore  again,  and,  on 
the  instant  of  reviving,  demanded  to  repeat  the 
experiment;  but  as  they  utterly  refused,  she 
rode  inland  beneath  the  tempest,  and  travelled 
for  fourteen  nights  before  she  could  find  an 
other  place  of  embarkation. 

Madame  de  Chevreuse  rode  with  one  attend 
ant  from  Paris  to  Madrid,  fleeing  from  Riche 
lieu,  remaining  day  and  night  on  her  horse, 
attracting  perilous  admiration  by  the  womanly 
loveliness  which  no  male  attire  could  obscure. 
From  Spain  she  went  to  England,  organizing 
there  the  French  exiles  into  a  strength  which 
frightened  Richelieu;  thence  to  Holland,  to 
conspire  nearer  home ;  back  to  Paris,  on  the 
minister's  death,  to  form  the  faction  of  the  Im- 
portants  ;  and  when  the  Duke  of  Beaufort  was 
imprisoned,  Mazarin  said,  "  Of  what  use  to  cut 
off  the  arms  while  the  head  remains  ? "  Ten 
years  from  her  first  perilous  escape,  she  made 
a  second,  dashed  through  La  Vendee,  embarked 
at  St.  Malo  for  Dunkirk,  was  captured  by  the 
fleet  of  the  Parliament,  was  released  by  the 
governor  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  unable  to  im 
prison  so  beautiful  a  butterfly,  reached  her  port 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          49 

at  last,  and  in  a  few  weeks  was  intriguing  at 
Liege  again. 

The  Duchesse  de  Bouillon,  Turenne's  sister, 
purer  than  those  we  have  named,  but  not  less 
daring  or  determined,  after  charming  the  whole 
population  of  Paris  by  her  rebel  beauty  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  escaped  from  her  sudden  incar 
ceration  by  walking  through  the  midst  of  her 
guards  at  dusk,  crouching  in  the  shadow  of  her 
little  daughter ;  and  afterwards  allowed  herself 
to  be  recaptured,  rather  than  desert  that  child's 
sick-bed. 

Then  there  was  Cle"mence  de  Maille,  purest 
and  noblest  of  all,  niece  of  Richelieu  and  hap 
less  wife  of  the  cruel  ingrate  Conde",  his  equal 
in  daring  and  his  superior  in  every  other  high 
quality.  Married  while  a  child  still  playing  with 
her  dolls,  and  sent  at  once  to  a  convent  to  learn 
to  read  and  write,  she  became  a  woman  the  in 
stant  her  husband  became  a  captive ;  while  he 
watered  his  pinks  in  the  garden  at  Vincennes, 
she  went  through  France  and  raised  an  army 
for  his  relief.  Her  means  were  as  noble  as  her 
ends.  She  would  not  surrender  the  humblest 
of  her  friends  to  an  enemy,  or  suffer  the  mas 
sacre  of  her  worst  enemy  by  a  friend.  She 
threw  herself  between  the  fire  of  two  hostile 
parties  at  Bordeaux,  and,  while  men  were  fall 
ing  each  side  of  her,  compelled  them  to  peace. 


SO     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Her  deeds  rang  through  Europe.  When  she 
sailed  from  Bordeaux  for  Paris  at  last,  thirty 
thousand  people  assembled  to  bid  her  farewell. 
She  was  loved  and  admired  by  all  the  world, 
except  that  husband  for  whom  she  dared  so 
much  —  and  the  Archbishop  of  Taen.  The 
respectable  archbishop  complained  that  "this 
lady  did  not  prove  that  she  had  been  authorized 
by  her  husband,  an  essential  provision,  without 
which  no  woman  can  act  in  law."  And  Cond6 
himself,  whose  heart,  physically  twice  as  large 
as  other  men's,  was  spiritually  imperceptible, 
repaid  this  stainless  nobleness  by  years  of  perse 
cution,  and  bequeathed  her,  as  a  lifelong  pris 
oner,  to  his  dastard  son. 

Then,  on  the  royal  side,  there  was  Anne  of 
Austria,  sufficient  unto  herself,  Queen  Regent, 
and  every  inch  a  queen,  —  before  all  but  Maza- 
rin,  —  from  the  moment  when  the  mob  of  Paris 
filed  through  the  chamber  of  the  boy-king,'  dur 
ing  his  pretended  sleep,  and  the  motionless  and 
stately  mother  held  back  the  crimson  draperies 
with  the  same  lovely  arm  that  had  waved  peril 
ous  farewells  to  Buckingham,  to  the  day  when 
the  news  of  the  fatal  battle  of  Gien  came  to  her 
in  her  dressing-room,  and  "  she  remained  un 
disturbed  before  the  mirror,  not  neglecting  the 
arrangement  of  a  single  curl." 

In  short,  every  woman  who  took  part  in  the 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          51 

Ladies'  War  became  heroic,  from  Marguerite 
of  Lorraine,  who  snatched  the  pen  from  her 
weak  husband's  hand  and  gave  De  Retz  the 
order  for  the  first  insurrection,  down  to  the  wife 
of  the  commandant  of  the  Porte  St.  Roche, 
who,  springing  from  her  bed  to  obey  that  order, 
made  the  drums  beat  to  arms  and  secured  the 
barrier ;  and  fitly,  amid  adventurous  days  like 
these,  opened  the  career  of  Mademoiselle. 


II 

THE   FIRST   CAMPAIGN 

Grandchild  of  Henri  Quatre,  niece  of  Louis 
XIIL,  cousin  of  Louis  XIV.,  first  princess 
of  the  blood,  and  with  the  largest  income  in 
the  nation  —  500,000  livres  —  to  support  these 
dignities,  Mademoiselle  was  certainly  born  in 
the  purple.  Her  autobiography  admits  us  to 
very  gorgeous  company ;  the  stream  of  her 
personal  recollections  is  a  perfect  Pactolus. 
There  is  almost  a  surfeit  of  royalty  in  it ; 
every  card  is  a  court-card,  and  all  her  counters 
are  counts.  "  I  wore  at  this  festival  all  the 
crown  jewels  of  France,  and  also  those  of  the 
Queen  of  England."  "  A  far  greater  establish 
ment  was  assigned  to  me  than  any  fille  de 
France  had  ever  had,  not  excepting  any  of  my 


52     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

aunts,  the  Queens  of  England  and  of  Spain, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Savoy."  "  The  Queen, 
my  grandmother,  gave  me  as  a  governess  the 
same  lady  who  had  been  governess  to  the  late 
King."  Pageant  or  funeral,  it  is  the  same  thing. 
"  In  the  midst  of  these  festivities  we  heard  of 
the  death  of  the  King  of  Spain ;  whereat  the 
Queens  were  greatly  afflicted,  and  we  all  went 
into  mourning."  Thus,  throughout,  her  Me 
moirs  glitter  like  the  coat  with  which  the  splen 
did  Buckingham  astonished  the  cheaper  chivalry 
of  France  :  they  drop  diamonds. 

But  for  any  personal  career  Mademoiselle 
found  at  first  no  opportunity,  in  the  earlier 
years  of  the  Fronde.  A  gay,  fearless,  flattered 
girl,  she  simply  shared  the  fortunes  of  the 
court ;  laughed  at  the  festivals  in  the  Palace, 
laughed  at  the  ominous  insurrections  in  the 
streets  ;  laughed  when  the  people  cheered  her, 
their  pet  princess  ;  and  when  the  royal  party 
fled  from  Paris,  she  adroitly  secured  for  herself 
the  best  straw  bed  at  St.  Germain,  and  laughed 
louder  than  ever.  She  despised  the  courtiers 
who  flattered  her  ;  secretly  admired  her  young 
cousin  Conde",  whom  she  affected  to  despise  ; 
danced  when  the  court  danced,  and  ran  away 
when  it  mourned.  She  made  all  manner  of  fun 
of  her  English  lover,  the  future  Charles  II., 
whom  she  alone  of  all  the  world  found  bashful ; 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          53 

and  in  general  she  wasted  the  golden  hours 
with  much  excellent  fooling.  Nor  would  she, 
perhaps,  ever  have  found  herself  a  heroine,  but 
that  her  respectable  father  was  a  poltroon. 

Lord  Mahon  ventures  to  assert,  that  Gas- 
ton,  Duke  of  Orleans,  was  "  the  most  cowardly 
prince  of  whom  history  makes  mention."  A 
strong  expression,  but  perhaps  safe.  Holding 
the  most  powerful  position  in  the  nation,  he 
never  came  upon  the  scene  but  to  commit  some 
new  act  of  ingenious  pusillanimity;  while,  by 
some  extraordinary  chance,  every  woman  of 
his  immediate  kindred  was  a  natural  heroine, 
and  became  more  heroic  through  disgust  at 
him.  His  wife  was  Marguerite  of  Lorraine, 
who  originated  the  first  Fronde  insurrection ; 
his  daughter  turned  the  scale  of  the  second. 
Yet,  personally,  he  not  only  had  not  the  courage 
to  act,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  abstain  from 
acting :  he  could  no  more  keep  out  of  parties 
than  in  them,  but  was  always  busy,  waging  war 
in  spite  of  Mars  and  negotiating  in  spite  of 
Minerva. 

And  when  the  second  war  of  the  Fronde 
broke  out,  it  was  in  spite  of  himself  that  he  gave 
his  name  and  his  daughter  to  the  popular  cause. 
When  the  fate  of  the  two  nations  hung  trem 
bling  in  the  balance,  the  royal  army  under  Tu- 
renne  advancing  on  Paris,  and  almost  arrived 


54    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

at  the  city  of  Orl6ans,  and  that  city  likely  to 
take  the  side  of  the  strongest,  —  then  Made 
moiselle's  hour  had  come.  All  her  sympathies 
were  more  and  more  inclining  to  the  side  of 
Cond6  and  the  people.  Orleans  was  her  own 
hereditary  city.  Her  father,  as  was  his  custom 
in  great  emergencies,  declared  that  he  was  very 
ill  and  must  go  to  bed  immediately  ;  but  it  was 
as  easy  for  her  to  be  strong  as  it  was  for  him 
to  be  weak ;  so  she  wrung  from  him  a  reluctant 
plenipotentiary  power;  she  might  go  herself 
and  try  what  her  influence  could  do.  So  she 
rode  forth  from  Paris,  one  fine  morning,  March 
27,  1652,  — rode  with  a  few  attendants,  half  in 
enthusiasm,  half  in  levity,  aiming  to  become  a 
second  Joan  of  Arc,  secure  the  city,  and  save 
the  nation.  "I  felt  perfectly  delighted,"  says 
the  young  girl,  "  at  having  to  play  so  extraor 
dinary  a  part." 

The  people  of  Paris  had  heard  of  her  mis 
sion,  and  cheered  her  as  she  went.  The 
officers  of  the  army,  with  an  escort  of  five 
hundred  men,  met  her  half  way  from  Paris. 
Most  of  them  evidently  knew  her  calibre,  were 
delighted  to  see  her,  and  installed  her  at  once 
over  a  regular  council  of  war.  She  entered 
into  the  position  with  her  natural  promptness. 
A  certain  grave  M.  de  Rohan  undertook  to 
tutor  her  privately,  and  met  his  match.  In  the 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          55 

public  deliberation  there  were  some  differences 
of  opinion.  All  agreed  that  the  army  should 
not  pass  beyond  the  Loire :  this  was  Gaston's 
suggestion,  and  nevertheless  a  good  one.  Be 
yond  this  all  was  left  to  Mademoiselle.  Made 
moiselle  intended  to  go  straight  to  Orleans. 
"But  the  royal  army  had  reached  there  al 
ready."  Mademoiselle  did  not  believe  it.  "  The 
citizens  would  not  admit  her."  Mademoiselle 
would  see  about  that.  Presently  the  city  gov 
ernment  of  Orleans  sent  her  a  letter,  in  great 
dismay,  particularly  requesting  her  to  keep  her 
distance.  Mademoiselle  immediately  ordered 
her  coach,  and  set  out  for  the  city.  "I  was 
naturally  resolute,"  she  naively  remarks. 

Her  siege  of  Orleans  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  military  operations  on  record.  She 
was  right  in  one  thing  :  the  royal  army  had  not 
arrived  ;  but  it  might  appear  at  any  moment ; 
so  the  magistrates  quietly  shut  all  their  gates, 
and  waited  to  see  what  would  happen. 

Mademoiselle  happened.  It  was  eleven  in 
the  morning  when  she  reached  the  Porte  Ban- 
niere,  and  she  sat  three  hours  in  her  state 
carriage  without  seeing  a  person.  With  amus 
ing  politeness,  the  governor  of  the  city  at  last 
sent  her  some  confectionery,  —  agreeing  with 
John  Keats,  who  held  that  young  women  were 
beings  fitter  to  be  presented  with  sugar-plums 


56    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

than  with  one's  time.  But  he  took  care  to 
explain  that  the  bonbons  were  not  official,  and 
did  not  recognize  her  authority.  So  she  quietly 
ate  them,  and  then  decided  to  take  a  walk  out 
side  the  walls.  Her  council  of  war  opposed 
this  step,  as  they  did  every  other ;  but  she 
coolly  said — and  the  event  justified  her  pre 
diction  —  that  the  enthusiasm  of  the  populace 
would  carry  the  city  for  her,  if  she  could  only 
get  at  them. 

So  she  set  out  on  her  walk.  Her  two  beauti 
ful  ladies  of  honor,  the  Countesses  de  Fiesque 
and  de  Frontenac  went  with  her ;  a  few  at 
tendants  behind.  She  came  to  a  gate.  The 
people  were  all  gathered  inside  the  ramparts. 
"  Let  me  in,"  demanded  the  imperious  young 
lady.  The  astonished  citizens  looked  at  one 
another  and  said  nothing.  She  walked  on, 
the  crowd  inside  keeping  pace  with  her.  She 
reached  another  gate.  The  enthusiasm  was 
increased.  The  captain  of  the  guard  formed 
his  troops  in  line  and  saluted  her.  "  Open  the 
gate,"  she  again  insisted.  The  poor  captain 
made  signs  that  he  had  not  the  keys.  "  Break 
it  down,  then,"  coolly  suggested  the  daughter 
of  the  House  of  Orleans  ;  to  which  his  only 
reply  was  a  profusion  of  profound  bows,  and 
the  lady  walked  on. 

Those  were  the  days  of  astrology,  and  at  this 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          57 

moment  it  occurred  to  our  Mademoiselle  that 
the  chief  astrologer  of  Paris  had  predicted  suc 
cess  to  all  her  undertakings,  from  the  noon  of 
this  very  day  until  the  noon  following.  She 
had  never  had  the  slightest  faith  in  the  mystic 
science,  but  she  turned  to  her  attendant  ladies 
and  remarked  that  the  matter  was  settled ;  she 
should  get  in.  On  went  the  three  until  they 
reached  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  saw,  oppo 
site,  the  gates  which  opened  on  the  quay.  The 
Orleans  boatmen  came  flocking  round  her,  a 
hardy  race,  who  feared  neither  Queen  nor  Maza- 
rin.  They  would  break  down  any  gate  she 
chose.  She  selected  her  gate,  got  into  a  boat, 
and  sending  back  her  terrified  male  attendants, 
that  they  might  have  no  responsibility  in  the 
case,  she  was  rowed  to  the  other  side.  Her  new 
allies  were  already  at  work,  and  she  climbed 
from  the  boat  upon  the  quay  by  a  high  ladder, 
of  which  several  rounds  were  broken  away. 
They  worked  more  and  more  enthusiastically, 
though  the  gate  was  built  to  stand  a  siege,  and 
stoutly  resisted  this  one.  Courage  is  magnetic ; 
every  moment  increased  the  popular  enthu 
siasm,  as  these  high-born  ladies  stood  alone 
among  the  boatmen ;  the  crowd  inside  joined 
in  the  attack  upon  the  gate ;  the  guard  looked 
on ;  the  city  government  remained  irresolute 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  fairly  beleaguered  and 


$8    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

stormed  by  one  princess  and  two  maids  of 
honor. 

A  crash,  and  the  mighty  timbers  of  the  Porte 
Brtilee  yield  in  the  centre.  Aided  by  the  strong 
and  exceedingly  soiled  hands  of  her  new  friends, 
our  elegant  Mademoiselle  is  lifted,  pulled, 
pushed,  and  tugged  between  the  vast  iron  bars 
which  fortify  the  gate ;  and  in  this  fashion,  torn, 
splashed,  and  dishevelled  generally,  she  makes 
entrance  into  her  city.  The  guard,  promptly 
adhering  to  the  winning  side,  present  arms  to 
the  heroine.  The  people  fill  the  air  with  their 
applauses ;  they  place  her  in  a  large  wooden 
chair,  and  bear  her  in  triumph  through  the 
streets.  "  Everybody  came  to  kiss  my  hands, 
while  I  was  dying  with  laughter  to  find  myself 
in  so  odd  a  situation." 

Presently  our  volatile  lady  told  them  that  she 
had  learned  how  to  walk,  and  begged  to  be  put 
down ;  then  she  waited  for  her  countesses,  who 
arrived  bespattered  with  mud.  The  drums  beat 
before  her,  as  she  set  forth  again,  and  the  city 
government,  yielding  to  the  feminine  conqueror, 
came  to  do  her  homage.  She  carelessly  assured 
them  of  her  clemency.  She  "had  no  doubt 
that  they  would  soon  have  opened  the  gates,  but 
she  was  naturally  of  a  very  impatient  disposi 
tion,  and  could  not  wait."  Moreover,  she  kindly 
suggested,  neither  party  could  now  find  fault 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          59 

with  them ;  and  as  for  the  future,  she  would 
save  them  all  trouble,  and  govern  the  city  her 
self  —  which  she  accordingly  did. 

By  confession  of  all  historians,  she  alone 
saved  the  city  for  the  Fronde,  and,  for  the  mo 
ment,  secured  that  party  the  ascendancy  in 
the  nation.  Next  day  the  advance  guard  of 
the  royal  forces  appeared  —  a  day  too  late. 
Mademoiselle  made  a  speech  (the  first  in  her 
life)  to  the  city  government ;  then  went  forth 
to  her  own  small  army,  by  this  time  drawn  near, 
and  held  another  council.  The  next  day  she 
received  a  letter  from  her  father,  —  whose  health 
was  now  decidedly  restored,  —  declaring  that 
she  had  "  saved  Orleans  and  secured  Paris,  and 
shown  yet  more  judgment  than  courage."  The 
next  day  Conde"  came  up  with  his  forces,  com 
pared  his  fair  cousin  to  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and 
wrote  to  her  that  "  her  exploit  was  such  as  she 
only  could  have  performed,  and  was  of  the 
greatest  importance." 

Mademoiselle  stayed  a  little  longer  at  Or 
leans,  while  the  armies  lay  watching  each  other, 
or  fighting  the  battle  of  B16neau,  of  which  Cond£ 
wrote  her  an  official  bulletin,  as  being  general 
issimo.  She  amused  herself  easily,  went  to 
mass,  played  at  bowls,  received  the  magistrates, 
stopped  couriers  to  laugh  over  their  letters,  re 
viewed  the  troops,  signed  passports,  held  coun- 


60     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

cils,  and  did  many  things  "  for  which  she  should 
have  thought  herself  quite  unfitted,  if  she  had 
not  found  she  did  them  very  well."  The  en 
thusiasm  she  had  inspired  kept  itself  unabated, 
for  she  really  deserved  it.  She  was  everywhere 
recognized  as  head  of  affairs  ;  the  officers  of 
the  army  drank  her  health  on  their  knees,  when 
she  dined  with  them,  while  the  trumpets  sounded 
and  the  cannons  roared ;  Conde,  when  absent, 
left  instructions  to  his  officers,  "  Obey  the  com 
mands  of  Mademoiselle,  as  my  own ; "  and  her 
father  addressed  a  dispatch  from  Paris  to  her 
ladies  of  honor,  as  field  marshals  in  her  army : 
"A  Mesdames  les  Comtesses  Mar^chales  de 
Camp  dans  I'Arme'e  de  ma  Fille  centre  le 
Mazarin." 

Ill 

CAMPAIGN    THE   SECOND 

Mademoiselle  went  back  to  Paris.  Half  the 
population  met  her  outside  the  walls  ;  she 
kept  up  the  heroine  by  compulsion,  and  for  a 
few  weeks  held  her  court  as  Queen  of  France. 
If  the  Fronde  had  held  its  position  she  might 
very  probably  have  held  hers.  Conde,  being 
unable  to  marry  her  himself,  on  account  of  the 
continued  existence  —  which  he  sincerely  re 
gretted  —  of  his  invalid  wife,  had  a  fixed  design 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          61 

of  marrying  her  to  the  young  King.  Queen 
Henrietta  Maria  cordially  greeted  her,  lamented 
more  than  ever  her  rejection  of  the  "bashful" 
Charles  II.,  and  compared  her  to  the  original 
Maid  of  Orleans,  —  an  ominous  compliment 
from  an  English  source. 

The  royal  army  drew  near  ;  on  July  I,  1652, 
Mademoiselle  heard  their  drums  beating  out 
side.  "  I  shall  not  stay  at  home  to-day,"  she 
said  to  her  attendants,  at  two  in  the  morning ; 
"I  feel  convinced  that  I  shall  be  called  to  do 
some  unforeseen  act,  as  I  was  at  Orleans." 
And  she  was  not  far  wrong.  The  battle  of  the 
Porte  St.  Antoine  was  at  hand. 

Conde"  and  Turenne !  The  two  greatest 
names  in  the  history  of  European  wars,  until  a 
greater  eclipsed  them  both.  Conde",  a  prophecy 
of  Napoleon,  a  general  by  instinct,  incapable  of 
defeat,  insatiable  of  glory,  throwing  his  mar 
shal's  baton  within  the  lines  of  the  enemy,  and 
following  it ;  passionate,  false,  unscrupulous, 
mean.  Turenne,  the  precursor  of  Wellington 
rather,  simple,  honest,  truthful,  humble,  eating 
off  his  iron  camp  equipage  to  the  end  of  life. 
If  it  be  true,  as  the  ancients  said,  that  an  army 
of  stags  led  by  a  lion  is  more  formidable  than 
an  army  of  lions  led  by  a  stag,  then  the  pre 
sence  of  two  such  heroes  would  have  given 
lustre  to  the  most  trivial  conflict.  But  that 


62     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

fight  was  not  trivial  upon  which  hung  the  pos 
session  of  Paris  and  the  fate  of  France;  and 
between  these  two  great  soldiers  it  was  our 
Mademoiselle  who  was  again  to  hold  the  bal 
ance  and  to  decide  the  day. 

The  battle  raged  furiously  outside  the  city. 
Frenchman  fou'ght  against  Frenchman,  and 
nothing  distinguished  the  two  armies  except  a 
wisp  of  straw  in  the  hat,  on  the  one  side,  and 
a  piece  of  paper  on  the  other.  The  people  of 
the  metropolis,  fearing  equally  the  Prince  and 
the  King,  had  shut  the  gates  against  all  but  the 
wounded  and  the  dying.  The  Parliament  was 
awaiting  the  result  of  the  battle  before  taking 
sides.  The  Queen  was  on  her  knees  in  the 
Carmelite  Chapel.  De  Retz  was  shut  up  in  his 
palace,  and  Gaston  of  Orleans  in  his,  —  the 
latter,  as  usual,  slightly  indisposed  ;  and  Made 
moiselle,  passing  anxiously  through  the  streets, 
met  nobleman  after  nobleman  of  her  acquaint 
ance  borne  with  ghastly  wounds  to  his  residence. 
She  knew  that  the  numbers  were  unequal ;  she 
knew  that  her  friends  must  be  losing  ground. 
She  rushed  back  to  her  father,  and  implored 
him  to  go  forth  in  person,  rally  the  citizens,  and 
relieve  Conde.  It  was  quite  impossible ;  he 
was  so  exceedingly  feeble ;  he  could  not  walk 
a  hundred  yards.  "Then,  sir,"  said  the  indig 
nant  princess,  "  I  advise  you  to  go  immediately 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          63 

to  bed.  The  world  had  better  believe  that  you 
cannot  do  your  duty,  than  that  you  will  not." 

Time  passed  on,  each  moment  registered  in 
blood.  Mademoiselle  went  and  came ;  still  the 
same  sad  procession  of  dead  and  dying ;  still 
the  same  mad  conflict,  Frenchman  against 
Frenchman,  in  the  three  great  avenues  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  She  watched  it  from 
the  city  walls  till  she  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
One  final,  desperate  appeal,  and  her  dastard 
father  consented,  not  to  act  himself,  but  again 
to  appoint  her  his  substitute.  Armed  with 
the  highest  authority,  she  hastened  to  the 
H6tel  de  Ville,  where  the  Parliament  was  in 
irresolute  session.  The  citizens  thronged  round 
her,  as  she  went,  imploring  her  to  become  their 
leader.  She  reached  the  scene,  exhibited  her 
credentials,  and  breathlessly  issued  demands 
which  would  have  made  Gaston's  hair  stand  on 
end. 

"  I  desire  three  things,"  announced  Mademoi 
selle  ;  "  first,  that  the  citizens  shall  be  called  to 
arms." 

"It  is  done,"  answered  the  obsequious  offi 
cials. 

"Next,"  she  resolutely  went  on,  "that  two 
thousand  men  shall  be  sent  to  relieve  the  troops 
of  the  Prince." 

They  pledged  themselves  to  this  also. 


64    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

"Finally,"  said  the  daring  lady,  conscious  of 
the  mine  she  was  springing,  and  reserving  the 
one  essential  point  till  the  last,  "that  the  army 
of  Conde  shall  be  allowed  free  passage  into  the 
city." 

The  officials,  headed  by  the  Marechal  de 
l'H6pital,  at  once  exhibited  the  most  extreme 
courtesy  of  demeanor,  and  begged  leave  to 
assure  her  Highness  that  under  no  conceivable 
circumstances  could  this  request  be  granted. 

She  let  loose  upon  them  all  the  royal  anger 
of  the  House  of  Bourbon.  She  remembered 
the  sights  she  had  just  seen  :  she  thought  of 
Rochefoucauld,  with  his  eye  shot  out  and  his 
white  garments  stained  with  blood ;  of  Gui- 
tant  shot  through  the  body ;  of  Roche-Giffard, 
whom  she  pitied,  "though  a  Protestant." 
Cond6  might,  at  that  moment,  be  sharing  their 
fate ;  all  depended  on  her  ;  and  so  Conrart  de 
clares,  in  his  Memoirs,  that  "  Mademoiselle 
said  some  strange  things  to  these  gentlemen  :  " 
as,  for  instance,  that  her  attendants  should 
throw  them  out  of  the  window  ;  that  she  would 
pluck  off  the  Marshal's  beard  ;  that  he  should 
die  by  no  hand  but  hers,  and  the  like.  When 
it  came  to  this,  the  Marshal  de  I'Hdpital 
stroked  his  chin  with  a  sense  of  insecurity,  and 
called  the  council  away  to  deliberate ;  "  during 
which  time,"  says  the  softened  Princess,  "  lean- 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          65 

ing  on  a  window  which  looked  on  the  St.  Esprit, 
where  they  were  saying  mass,  I  offered  up  my 
prayers  to  God."  At  last  they  came  back,  and 
assented  to  every  one  of  her  propositions. 

In  a  moment  she  was  in  the  streets  again. 
The  first  person  she  met  was  Vallon,  terribly 
wounded.  "  We  are  lost !  "  he  said.  "  You 
are  saved  ! "  she  cried,  proudly.  "  I  command 
to-day  in  Paris,  as  I  commanded  in  Orleans." 

"  Vous  me  rendez  la  vie,"  said  the  reanimated 
soldier,  who  had  been  with  her  in  her  first 
campaign.  On  she  went,  meeting  at  every  step 
men  wounded  in  the  head,  in  the  body,  in  the 
limbs,  —  on  horseback,  on  foot,  on  planks,  on 
barrows,  —  besides  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  She 
reached  the  windows  beside  the  Porte  St.  An- 
toine,  and  Cond6  met  her  there  ;  he  rode  up, 
covered  with  blood  and  dust,  his  scabbard  lost, 
his  sword  in  hand.  Before  she  could  speak, 
that  soul  of  fire  uttered,  for  the  only  recorded 
time  in  his  career,  the  word  Despair:  "Ma 
cousine,  vous  voyez  un  homme  au  desespoir," 
— and  burst  into  tears.  But  her  news  instantly 
revived  him,  and  his  army  with  him.  "  Made 
moiselle  is  at  the  gate,"  the  soldiers  cried ;  and, 
with  this  certainty  of  a  place  of  refuge,  they 
could  do  all  things.  In  this  famous  fight,  five 
thousand  men  defended  themselves  against 
twelve  thousand  for  eight  hours.  "  Did  you 


66    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

see  Conde  himself  ? "  they  asked  Turenne,  after 
it  was  over.  "  I  saw  not  one,  but  a  dozen  Con- 
d£s,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  he  was  in  every  place 
at  once." 

But  there  was  one  danger  more  for  Conde, 
one  opportunity  more  for  Mademoiselle,  that 
day.  Climbing  the  neighboring  towers  of  the 
Bastille,  she  watched  the  royal  party  on  the 
heights  of  Charonne,  and  saw  fresh  cavalry  and 
artillery  detached  to  aid  the  army  of  Turenne. 
The  odds  were  already  enormous,  and  there 
was  but  one  course  left  for  her.  She  was  mis 
tress  of  Paris,  and  therefore  mistress  of  the 
Bastille.  She  sent  for  the  governor  of  the  for 
tress,  and  showed  him  the  advancing  troops. 
"  Turn  the  cannon  under  your  charge,  sir,  upon 
the  royal  army."  Without  waiting  to  heed  the 
consternation  she  left  behind  her,  Mademoiselle 
returned  to  the  gate.  The  troops  had  heard  of 
the  advancing  reinforcements,  and  were  droop 
ing  again ;  when,  suddenly,  the  cannon  of  the 
Bastille,  those  Spanish  cannon,  flamed  out  their 
powerful  succor,  the  royal  army  halted  and  re 
treated,  and  the  day  was  won. 

The  Queen  and  the  Cardinal,  watching  from 
Charonne,  saw  their  victims  escape  them.  But 
the  cannon  shots  bewildered  them  all.  "  It  was 
probably  a  salute  to  Mademoiselle,"  suggested 
some  comforting  adviser.  "  No,"  said  the  ex- 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          67 

perienced  Marshal  de  Villeroi,  "if  Mademoi 
selle  had  a  hand  in  it,  the  salute  was  for  us." 
At  this,  Mazarin  comprehended  the  whole  pro 
ceeding,  and  coldly  consoled  himself  with  a  ban 
mot  that  became  historic.  "  Elle  a  tu6  son 
mari,"  he  said, — meaning  that  her  dreams  of 
matrimony  with  the  young  King  must  now  be 
ended.  No  matter ;  the  battle  of  the  Porte  St. 
Antoine  was  ended  also. 

There  have  been  many  narratives  of  that 
battle,  including  Napoleon's  ;  they  are  hard  to 
reconcile,  and  our  heroine's  own  is  by  no  means 
the  clearest ;  but  all  essentially  agree  in  the 
part  they  ascribe  to  her.  One  brief  appendix 
to  the  campaign,  and  her  short  career  of  hero 
ism  fades  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

Yet  a  third  time  did  Fortune,  showering  upon 
one  maiden  so  many  opportunities  at  once,  sum 
mon  her  to  arm  herself  with  her  father's  au 
thority,  that  she  might  go  in  his  stead  into  that 
terrible  riot  which,  two  days  after,  tarnished 
the  glories  of  Conde",  and  by  its  reaction  over 
threw  the  party  of  the  Fronde  ere  long.  None 
but  Mademoiselle  dared  to  take  the  part  of 
that  doomed  minority  in  the  city  government, 
which,  for  resisting  her  own  demands,  was  to 
be  terribly  punished  on  that  fourth  of  July 
night.  "  A  conspiracy  so  base,"  said  the  gen 
erous  Talon,  "  never  stained  the  soil  of  France." 


68     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

By  deliberate  premeditation,  an  assault  was  made 
by  five  hundred  disguised  soldiers  on  the  Par 
liament  assembled  in  the  H6tel  de  Ville  ;  the 
tumult  spread  ;  the  night  rang  with  a  civil  con 
flict  more  terrible  than  that  of  the  day.  Cond6 
and  Gaston  were  vainly  summoned;  the  one 
cared  not,  the  other  dared  not.  Mademoiselle 
again  took  her  place  in  her  carriage  and  drove 
forth  amid  the  terrors  of  the  night.  The  sud 
den  conflict  had  passed  its  cruel  climax,  but 
she  rode  through  streets  slippery  with  blood ; 
she  was  stopped  at  every  corner.  Once  a  man 
laid  his  arm  on  the  window,  and  asked  if  Conde 
was  within  the  carriage.  She  answered  "  No,'' 
and  he  retreated,  the  flambeaux  gleaming  on  a 
weapon  beneath  his  cloak.  Through  these  in 
terruptions,  she  did  not  reach  the  half -burned 
and  smoking  Hotel  de  Ville  till  most  of  its  in 
mates  had  left  it ;  the  few  remaining  she  aided 
to  conceal,  and  emerged  again  amid  the  linger 
ing,  yawning  crowd,  who  cheered  her  with, 
"  God  bless  Mademoiselle  !  all  she  does  is  well 
done." 

At  four  o'clock  that  morning  she  went  to 
rest,  weary  with  these  days  and  nights  of  re 
sponsibility.  Sleep  soundly,  Mademoiselle,  you 
will  be  troubled  with  such  no  longer.  An  igno 
minious  peace  is  at  hand ;  and  though  peace, 
too,  has  her  victories,  yours  is  not  a  nature 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          69 

grand  enough  to  grasp  them.  Last  to  yield, 
last  to  be  forgiven,  there  will  yet  be  little  in 
your  future  career  to  justify  the  distrust  of 
despots,  or  to  recall  the  young  heroine  of  Or 
igans  and  St.  Antoine. 


IV 

THE   CONCLUSION 

Like  a  river  which  loses  itself,  by  infinite 
subdivision,  in  the  sands,  so  the  wars  of  the 
Fronde  disappeared  in  petty  intrigues  at  last. 
As  the  fighting  ended  and  manoeuvring  became 
the  game,  of  course  Mazarin  came  uppermost, 
—  Mazarin,  that  super-Italian,  finessing  and 
fascinating,  so  deadly  sweet,  Vhomme  plus 
agrtable  du  monde,  as  Madame  de  Motteville 
and  Bussy-Rabutin  call  him  ;  flattering  that  he 
might  win,  avaricious  that  he  might  be  mag 
nificent,  winning  kings  by  jewelry  and  prin 
cesses  by  lapdogs  ;  too  cowardly  for  an  avoid 
able  collision  ;  too  cool  and  economical  in  his 
hatred  to  waste  an  antagonist  by  killing  him, 
but  always  luring  and  cajoling  him  into  an  un 
willing  tool ;  too  serenely  careless  of  popular 
emotion  even  to  hate  the  mob  of  Paris,  any 
more  than  a  surgeon  hates  his  own  lancet  when 
it  cuts  him,  —  he  only  changes  his  grasp  and 


70    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

holds  it  more  cautiously.  Mazarin  ruled.  And 
the  King  was  soon  joking  over  the  fight  at  the 
Porte  St.  Antoine  with  Conde  and  Mademoi 
selle  ;  the  Queen  at  the  same  time  affection 
ately  assuring  our  heroine,  that,  if  she  could 
have  got  at  her  on  that  day,  she  would  cer 
tainly  have  strangled  her,  but  that,  since  it  was 
past,  she  would  love  her  as  ever  —  as  ever; 
while  Mademoiselle,  not  to  be  outdone,  lies  like 
a  Frenchwoman,  and  assures  the  Queen  that 
really  she  did  not  mean  to  be  so  naughty,  but 
"  she  was  with  those  who  induced  her  to  act 
against  her  sense  of  duty !  " 

The  day  of  civil  war  was  over.  The  daring 
heroines  and  voluptuous  blonde  beauties  of  the 
Frondeur  party  must  seek  excitement  else 
where.  Some  looked  for  it  in  literature;  for 
the  female  education  of  France  in  that  age  was 
far  higher  than  England  could  show.  The  in 
tellectual  glory  of  the  reign  of  the  Grand  Mon- 
arque  began  in  its  women.  Marie  de  Medicis 
had  imported  the  Italian  grace  and  wit ;  Anne 
of  Austria  the  Spanish  courtesy  and  romance. 
H6tel  de  Rambouillet  had  united  the  two,  and 
introduced  the  genre  prfaieux,  or  stately  style, 
which  was  superb  in  its  origin,  and  dwindled 
to  absurdity  in  the  hands  of  Mile,  de  Scudery 
and  her  valets,  before  Moliere  smiled  it  away 
forever.  And  now  that  the  wars  were  done, 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          71 

literary  society  came  up  again.  Madame  de 
Sable"  exhausted  the  wit  and  the  cookery  of  the 
age  in  her  fascinating  entertainments,  — pAtts 
and  Pascal,  Rochefoucauld  and  ragotits,  —  Mme. 
de  Bregy's  Epictetus,  Mme.  de  Choisy's  salads, 
confectionery,  marmalade,  elixirs,  Descartes} 
Arnould,  Calvinism,  and  the  barometer.  Ma 
dame  de  Sable  had  a  sentimental  theory  that 
no  woman  should  eat  at  the  same  table  with  a 
lover,  but  she  liked  to  see  her  lovers  eat,  and 
Mademoiselle,  in  her  obsolete  novel  of  the 
"Princesse  de  Paphlagonie,"  gently  satirizes 
this  passion  of  her  friend.  And  Mademoiselle 
herself  finally  eclipsed  the  Sable  by  her  own  en 
tertainments  at  her  palace  of  the  Luxembourg, 
where  she  offered  no  dish  but  one  of  gossip, 
serving  up  herself  and  friends  in  a  course  of 
"  Portraits  "  that  the  style  became  the  fashion 
for  ten  years,  and  reached  perfection  at  last  in 
the  famous  "Characters"  of  La  Bruyere. 

Other  heroines  went  into  convents,  joined 
the  Carmelites,  or  those  nuns  of  Port  Royal  of 
whom  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  said  that  they 
lived  in  the  purity  of  angels  and  the  pride  of 
devils.  Thither  went  Madame  de  Sabl6  her 
self,  finally,  —  "the  late  Madame,"  as  the  dash 
ing  young  abbe's  called  her  when  she  renounced 
the  world.  Thither  she  drew  the  beautiful 
Longueville  also,  and  Heaven  smiled  on  one 


72     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

repentance  that  seemed  sincere.  There  they 
found  peace  in  the  home  of  Angelique  Arnould 
and  Jacqueline  Pascal.  And  thence  those  heroic 
women  came  forth  again,  when  religious  war 
threatened  to  take  the  place  of  civil ;  again 
they  put  to  shame  their  more  timid  male  com 
panions,  and  by  their  labors  Jesuit  and  Jansen- 
ist  found  peace. 

But  not  such  was  to  be  the  career  of  our 
Mademoiselle,  who  at  twenty  had  tried  the 
part  of  devotee  for  one  week  and  renounced  it 
forever.  No  doubt  at  thirty-five  she  "  began 
to  understand  that  it  is  part  of  the  duty  of  a 
Christian  to  attend  High  Mass  on  Sundays  and 
holy  days ; "  and  her  description  of  the  death 
bed  of  Anne  of  Austria  is  a  most  extraordi 
nary  jumble  of  the  next  world  and  this.  But 
thus  much  of  devotion  was  to  her  only  a  part 
of  the  proprieties  of  life,  and  before  the  altar  of 
those  proprieties  she  served,  for  the  rest  of 
her  existence,  with  exemplary  zeal.  At  forty 
she  was  still  the  wealthiest  unmarried  princess 
in  Europe ;  fastidious  in  toilet,  stainless  in 
reputation,  not  lovely  in  temper,  rigid  in  eti 
quette,  learned  in  precedence,  an  oracle  in  court 
traditions,  a  terror  to  the  young  maids  of  honor, 
and  always  quarrelling  with  her  own  sisters, 
younger,  fairer,  poorer  than  herself.  Her  mind 
and  will  were  as  active  as  in  her  girlhood,  but 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          73 

they  ground  chaff  instead  of  wheat.  Whether 
her  sisters  should  dine  at  the  Queen's  table, 
when  she  never  had ;  who  should  be  her  train- 
bearer  at  the  royal  marriage  ;  whether  the  royal 
Spanish  father-in-law,  on  the  same  occasion, 
should  or  should  not  salute  the  Queen-mother ; 
who,  on  any  given  occasion,  should  have  a  ta 
bouret,  who  a  pliant,  who  a  chair,  who  an  arm 
chair  ;  who  should  enter  the  King's  ruelle,  or 
her  own,  or  pass  out  by  the  private  stairway ; 
how  she  should  arrange  the  duchesses  at  state 
funerals,  —  these  were  the  things  which  tried 
Mademoiselle's  soul,  and  these  fill  the  later 
volumes  of  that  autobiography  whose  earlier 
record  was  all  a  battle  and  a  march.  From 
Conde's  "Obey  Mademoiselle's  orders  as  my 
own,"  we  come  down  to  this  :  "  For  my  part,  I 
had  been  worrying  myself  all  day ;  having  been 
told  that  the  new  Queen  would  not  salute  me 
on  the  lips,  and  that  the  King  had  decided  to 
sustain  her  in  this  position.  I  therefore  spoke 
to  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  on  the  subject,  bring 
ing  forward  as  an  important  precedent  in  my 
favor,  that  the  Queen-mother  had  always  kissed 
the  princesses  of  the  blood  ;  "  and  so  on  through 
many  pages.  Thus  lapsed  her  youth  of  frolics 
into  an  old  age  of  cards. 

It  is  a  slight  compensation  that  this  very 
pettiness  makes  her  chronicles  of  the  age  very 


74    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

vivid  in  details.  How  she  revels  in  the  silver 
brocades,  the  violet-colored  velvet  robes,  the 
crimson  velvet  carpets,  the  purple  damask  cur 
tains  fringed  with  gold  and  silver,  the  embroi 
dered  fleurs  de  Us,  the  wedding-caskets,  the 
cordons  of  diamonds,  the  clusters  of  emeralds 
en  poires  with  diamonds,  and  the  Isabelle-col- 
ored  linen,  whereby  hangs  a  tale  !  She  still 
kept  up  her  youthful  habit  of  avoiding  the  sick 
rooms  of  her  kindred,  but  how  magnificently 
she  mourned  them  when  they  died !  Her  brief, 
genuine,  but  quite  unexpected  sorrow  for  her 
father  was  speedily  assuaged  by  the  opportu 
nity  it  gave  her  to  introduce  the  fashion  of 
gray  mourning  instead  of  black  ;  it  had  pre 
viously,  it  seems,  been  worn  by  widows  only. 
Servants  and  horses  were  all  put  in  deep  black, 
however,  and  "  the  court  observed  that  I  was 
very  magnifique  in  all  my  arrangements."  On 
the  other  hand,  be  it  recorded  that  our  Made 
moiselle,  chivalrous  royalist  to  the  last,  was 
the  only  person  at  the  French  court  who  re 
fused  to  wear  mourning  for  the  usurper  Crom 
well. 

But,  if  thus  addicted  to  funeral  pageants,  it 
is  needless  to  say  that  weddings  occupied  their 
full  proportion  of  her  thoughts.  Her  schemes 
for  matrimony  fill  the  larger  portion  of  her 
history,  and  are,  like  all  the  rest,  a  diamond 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          75 

necklace  of  great  names.  In  the  boudoir,  as  in 
the  field,  her  campaigns  were  superb,  but  she 
was  cheated  of  the  results.  Her  picture  should 
have  been  painted,  like  that  of  Justice,  with 
sword  and  scales,  —  the  one  for  foes,  the  other 
for  lovers.  She  spent  her  life  in  weighing 
them,  —  monarch  against  monarch,  a  king  in 
hand  against  an  emperor  in  the  bush.  We 
have  it  on  her  own  authority,  —  which,  in  such 
matters,  was  unsurpassable,  —  that  she  was 
"  the  best  match  in  Europe,  except  the  Infanta 
of  Spain."  Not  a  marriageable  prince  in  Chris 
tendom,  therefore,  can  hover  near  the  French 
court  but  this  middle-aged  sensitive  plant  pre 
pares  to  close  her  leaves  and  be  coy.  The 
procession  of  her  wooers  files  before  our  won 
dering  eyes,  and  each  the  likeness  of  a  kingly 
crown  has  on  :  Louis  himself,  her  bright  pos 
sibility  of  twenty  years,  till  he  takes  her  at  her 
own  estimate  and  prefers  the  Infanta ;  Mon 
sieur  (his  younger  brother)  Philip  IV.  of  Spain ; 
Charles  II.  of  England  ;  the  Emperor  of  Ger 
many  ;  the  Archduke  Leopold  of  Austria,  pro 
spective  King  of  Holland  ;  the  King  of  Por 
tugal  ;  the  Prince  of  Denmark ;  the  Elector 
of  Bavaria ;  the  Duke  of  Savoy ;  Condi's  son, 
and  Conde  himself.  For  the  last  of  these  alone 
she  seems  to  have  felt  any  real  affection. 
Their  tie  was  more  than  cousinly ;  the  same 


76    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

heroic  blood  of  the  early  Bourbons  was  in 
them,  they  were  trained  by  the  same  precocious 
successes,  they  were  only  six  years  apart  in 
age,  and  they  began  with  that  hearty  mutual 
aversion  which  is  so  often  the  parent  of  love, 
in  impulsive  natures.  Their  flirtation  was  pla- 
tonic,  but  chronic ;  and  whenever  poor,  heroic, 
desolate  Clemence  de  Maille  was  more  ill  than 
usual,  these  cousins  were  walking  side  by  side 
in  the  Tuileries  gardens,  and  dreaming,  almost 
in  silence,  of  what  might  be,  while  Mazarin 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  mating  two  such 
eagles  together.  So  passed  her  life,  and  at 
last,  like  many  a  match-making  lady,  she  baf 
fled  all  the  gossips,  and  left  them  all  in  laughter 
when  her  choice  was  made. 

The  tale  stands  embalmed  forever  in  the 
famous  letter  of  Madame  de  SeVign6  to  her 
cousin,  M.  de  Coulanges,  written  on  Monday, 
December  15,  1670.  It  can  never  be  translated 
too  often,  so  let  us  risk  it  again. 

"  I  have  now  to  announce  to  you  the  most 
astonishing  circumstance,  the  most  surprising, 
most  marvellous,  most  triumphant,  most  bewil 
dering,  most  unheard-of,  most  singular,  most  ex 
traordinary,  most  incredible,  most  unexpected, 
most  grand,  most  trivial,  most  rare,  most  com 
mon,  most  notorious,  most  secret  (till  to-day), 
most  brilliant,  most  desirable ;  indeed,  a  thing 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          77 

to  which  past  ages  afford  but  one  parallel,  and 
that  a  poor  one  ;  a  thing  which  we  can  scarcely 
believe  at  Paris  ;  how  can  it  be  believed  at 
Lyons  ?  a  thing  which  excites  the  compassion 
of  all  the  world,  and  the  delight  of  Madame 
de  Rohan  and  Madame  de  Hauterive ;  a  thing 
which  is  to  be  done  on  Sunday,  when  those 
who  see  it  will  hardly  believe  their  eyes ;  a 
thing  which  will  be  done  on  Sunday,  and  which 
might  perhaps  be  impossible  on  Monday;  I 
cannot  possibly  announce  it ;  guess  it ;  I  give 
you  three  guesses  ;  try  now.  If  you  will  not, 
I  must  tell  you.  M.  de  Lauzun  marries  on  Sun 
day,  at  the  Louvre  —  whom  now  ?  I  give  you 
three  guesses  —  six  —  a  hundred.  Madame 
de  Coulanges  says,  '  It  is  not  hard  to  guess  ;  it 
is  Madame  de  la  Valliere.'  Not  at  all,  Madame  ! 
'  Mile,  de  Retz  ? '  Not  a  bit ;  you  are  a  mere 
provincial.  '  How  absurd ! '  you  say  ;  'it  is 
Mile.  Colbert.'  Not  that  either.  'Then,  of 
course,  it  is  Mile,  de  Cr6quL'  Not  right  yet. 
Must  I  tell  you,  then  ?  Listen  !  he  marries  on 
Sunday,  at  the  Louvre,  by  his  Majesty's  per 
mission,  Mademoiselle  —  Mademoiselle  de  — 
Mademoiselle  (will  you  guess  again  ?)  —  he 
marries  MADEMOISELLE  —  La  Grande  Made 
moiselle  —  Mademoiselle,  daughter  of  the  late 
Monsieur  —  Mademoiselle,  granddaughter  of 
Henri  Quatre  —  Mademoiselle  d'Eu  —  Made- 


78     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

moiselle  de  Dombes  —  Mademoiselle  de  Mont- 
pensier —  Mademoiselle  d' Orleans  —  Mademoi- 
selle,  the  King's  own  cousin  —  Mademoiselle, 
destined  for  the  throne  —  Mademoiselle,  the 
only  fit  match  in  France  for  Monsieur  [the 
King's  brother], — there's  apiece  of  informa 
tion  for  you  !  If  you  shriek,  —  if  you  are  be 
side  yourself,  —  if  you  say  it  is  a  hoax,  false, 
mere  gossip,  stuff,  and  nonsense,  —  if,  finally, 
you  say  hard  things  about  us,  we  do  not  com 
plain  ;  we  took  the  news  in  the  same  way. 
Adieu !  the  letters  by  this  post  will  show  you 
whether  we  have  told  the  truth." 

Poor  Mademoiselle !  Madame  de  SeVign6 
was  right  in  one  thing,  —  if  it  were  not  done 
promptly,  it  might  prove  impracticable.  Like 
Ralph  Roister  Doister,  she  should  ha'  been 
married  o'  Sunday.  Duly  the  contract  was 
signed  by  which  Lauzun  took  the  name  of  M. 
de  Montpensier  and  the  largest  fortune  in  the 
kingdom,  surrendered  without  reservation,  all, 
all  to  him ;  but  Mazarin  had  bribed  the  notary 
to  four  hours'. delay,  and  during  that  time  the 
King  was  brought  to  change  his  mind,  to  revoke 
his  consent,  and  to  contradict  the  letters  he  had 
written  to  foreign  courts,  formally  announcing 
the  nuptials  of  the  first  princess  of  the  blood. 
In  reading  the  Memoirs  of  Mademoiselle,  one 
forgets  all  the  absurdity  of  all  her  long  ama- 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          79 

tory  angling  for  the  handsome  young  guards 
man,  in  pity  for  her  deep  despair.  When  she 
went  to  remonstrate  with  the  King,  the  two 
royal  cousins  fell  on  their  knees,  embraced, 
"  and  thus  we  remained  for  near  three  quarters 
of  an  hour,  not  a  word  being  spoken  during  the 
whole  time,  but  both  drowned  in  tears."  Re 
viving  she  told  the  King,  with  her  usual  frank 
ness,  that  he  was  "  like  apes  who  caress  children 
and  suffocate  them ;  "  and  this  high-minded 
monarch  soon  proceeded  to  justify  her  remark 
by  ordering  her  lover  to  the  Castle  of  Pignerol, 
to  prevent  a  private  marriage,  —  which  had 
probably  taken  place  already.  Ten  years 
passed,  before  the  labors  and  wealth  of  this 
constant  and  untiring  wife  could  obtain  her 
husband's  release  ;  and  when  he  was  discharged 
at  last,  he  came  out  a  changed,  soured,  selfish, 
ungrateful  man.  "Just  Heaven,"  she  had  ex 
claimed  in  her  youth,  "  would  not  bestow  such 
a  woman  as  myself  upon  a  man  who  was 
unworthy  of  her."  But  perhaps  Heaven  was 
juster  than  she  thought.  The  married  pair 
soon  parted  again  forever,  and  Lauzun  went  to 
England,  there  to  atone  for  these  inglorious 
earlier  days  by  one  deed  of  heroic  loyalty  which 
I  have  no  room  to  tell. 

And  then  unrolled  the  gorgeous  tapestry  of 
the  maturer  reign  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  — 


8o    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

that  sovereign  whom  his  priests  in  their  liturgy 
styled  "the  chief  work  of  the  Divine  hands," 
and  of  whom  Mazarin  said,  more  truthfully, 
that  there  was  material  enough  in  him  for  four 
kings  and  one  honest  man.  The  "  Moi-meme  " 
of  his  boyish  resolution  became  the  "L'etat, 
c'est  moi "  of  his  maturer  egotism ;  Spain 
yielded  to  France  the  mastery  of  the  land,  as 
she  had  already  yielded  to  Holland  and  Eng 
land  the  sea ;  Turenne  fell  at  Sassbach,  Conde" 
sheathed  his  sword  at  Chantilly;  Bossuet  and 
Bourdaloue,  preaching  the  funeral  sermons  of 
these  heroes,  praised  their  glories,  and  forgot, 
as  preachers  will,  their  sins ;  Vatel  committed 
suicide  because  his  Majesty  had  not  fish  enough 
for  breakfast ;  the  Princesse  Palatine  died  in  a 
convent,  and  the  Princesse  Conde  in  a  prison ; 
the  fair  Sevigne  chose  the  better  part,  and  the 
fairer  Montespan  the  worse ;  the  lovely  La 
Valliere  walked  through  sin  to  saintliness,  and 
poor  Marie  de  Mancini  through  saintliness  to 
sin ;  Voiture  and  Benserade  and  Corneille 
passed  away,  and  Racine  and  Moliere  reigned 
in  their  stead ;  and  Mademoiselle,  who  had  won 
the  first  campaigns  of  her  life  and  lost  all  the 
rest,  died  a  weary  old  woman  at  sixty-seven. 

Thus  wrecked  and  wasted,  her  opportunity 
past,  her  career  a  disappointment,  she  leaves  us 
only  the  passing  glimpse  of  what  she  was,  and 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          81 

the  hazy  possibility  of  what  she  might  have 
been.  Perhaps  the  defect  was,  after  all,  in 
herself ;  perhaps  the  soil  was  not  deep  enough 
to  produce  anything  but  a  few  stray  hero 
isms,  bright  and  transitory — perhaps  otherwise. 
What  fascinates  us  in  her  is  simply  her  daring, 
that  inborn  fire  of  the  blood  to  which  danger 
is  its  own  exceeding  great  reward;  a  quality 
which  always  kindles  enthusiasm,  and  justly, 
but  which  is  a  thing  of  temperament,  not  neces 
sarily  joined  with  any  other  great  qualities,  and 
worthless  when  it  stands  alone.  But  she  had 
other  resources, — weapons,  at  least,  if  not 
qualities  ;  she  had  birth,  wealth,  ambition,  de 
cision,  pride,  perseverance,  ingenuity ;  beauty 
not  slight,  though  not  equalling  the  superb 
Longuevilles  and  Chevreuses  of  the  age ;  great 
personal  magnetism,  more  than  average  culti 
vation  for  that  period,  and  unsullied  chastity. 
Who  can  say  in  what  things  might  have  ended 
under  other  circumstances  ?  We  have  seen  how 
Mazarin,  who  read  all  hearts  but  the  saintly, 
dreaded  the  conjunction  of  herself  and  Cond6 ; 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  doubt  that  it  would 
have  placed  a  new  line  of  Bourbons  on  the 
throne.  Had  she  married  Louis  XIV.,  she 
might  not  have  controlled  that  steadier  will,  but 
there  would  have  been  two  Grand  Monarques 
instead  of  one  ;  had  she  accepted  Charles  II.  of 


82     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

England,  she  might  have  only  increased  his 
despotic  tendencies,  but  she  would  easily  have 
disposed  of  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth;  had 
she  won  Ferdinand  III.,  Germany  might  have 
suffered  less  by  the  Peace  of  Westphalia  ;  had 
she  chosen  Alphonso  Henry,  the  house  of  Bra- 
ganza  would  again  have  been  upheld  by  a  wo 
man's  hand.  But  she  did  none  of  these  things, 
and  her  only  epitaph  is  that  dreary  might-have- 
been. 

Nay,  not  the  only  one;  for  one  visible  re 
cord  of  her,  at  least,  the  soil  of  France  cherishes 
among  its  chiefest  treasures.  When  the  Paris 
butterflies  flutter  for  a  summer  day  to  the  decay 
ing  watering-place  of  Dieppe,  some  American 
wanderer,  who  flutters  with  them,  may  cast 
perchance  a  longing  eye  to  where  the  hamlet 
of  Eu  stands  amid  its  verdant  meadows,  two 
miles  away,  still  lovely  as  when  the  Archbishop 
Laurent  chose  it  out  of  all  the  world  for  his 
"place  of  eternal  rest,"  six  centuries  ago.  But 
it  is  not  for  its  memories  of  priestly  tombs  and 
miracles  that  the  summer  visitor  seeks  it  now, 
nor  because  the  savant  loves  its  ancient  sea- 
margin  or  its  Roman  remains  ;  nor  is  it  because 
the  little  Bresle  winds  gracefully  through  its 
soft  bed,  beneath  forests  green  in  the  sunshine, 
glorious  in  the  gloom ;  it  is  not  for  the  mem 
ories  of  Rollo  and  William  the  Conqueror, 


MADEMOISELLE'S  CAMPAIGNS          83 

which  fill  with  visionary  shapes,  grander  than 
the  living,  the  corridors  of  its  half -desolate 
chateau.  It  is  because  these  storied  walls, 
often  ruined,  often  rebuilt,  still  shelter  a  gallery 
of  historic  portraits 1  such  as  the  world  cannot 
equal ;  there  is  not  a  Bourbon  king,  nor  a  Bour 
bon  battle,  nor  one  great  name  among  the 
courtier  contemporaries  of  Bourbons,  that  is 
not  represented  there ;  the  "  Hall  of  the  Guises  " 
contains  kindred  faces,  from  all  the  realms  of 
Christendom ;  the  "  Salon  des  Rois "  holds 
Joan  of  Arc,  sculptured  in  marble  by  the  hand 
of  a  princess ;  in  the  drawing-room,  Pere  la 
Chaise  and  Marion  de  1'Orme  are  side  by  side, 
and  the  angelic  beauty  of  Agnes  Sorel  floods 
the  great  hall  with  light  like  a  sunbeam ;  and 
in  this  priceless  treasure-house,  worth  more  to 
France  than  almost  fair  Normandy  itself,  — 
this  gallery  of  glory,  first  arranged  at  Choisy, 
then  transferred  hither  to  console  the  solitude 
of  a  weeping  woman,  —  the  wanderer  finds  the 
only  remaining  memorial  of  La  Grande  Made 
moiselle. 

1  [Now  removed.] 


THE  PURITAN   MINISTER 

IT  is  nine  o'clock  upon  a  summer  Sunday 
morning,  in  the  year  sixteen  hundred  and  some 
thing.  The  sun  looks  down  brightly  on  a  little 
forest  settlement,  around  whose  expanding  fields 
the  great  American  wilderness  recedes  each 
day,  withdrawing  its  bears  and  wolves  and  In 
dians  into  an  ever  remoter  distance,  —  not  yet 
so  far  removed,  however,  but  that  a  stout  wooden 
gate  at  each  end  of  the  village  street  indicates 
that  there  is  danger  outside.  It  would  look 
very  busy  and  thriving  in  this  hamlet,  to-day, 
but  for  the  Sabbath  stillness  which  broods 
over  everything  with  almost  an  excess  of  calm. 
Even  the  smoke  ascends  more  faintly  than 
usual  from  the  chimneys  of  these  numerous  log- 
huts  and  these  few  framed  houses,  and  since 
three  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon  not  a  stroke 
of  this  world's  work  has  been  done.  Last  night 
a  preparatory  lecture  was  held,  and  now  comes 
the  consummation  of  the  whole  week's  life,  in 
the  solemn  act  of  worship.  In  which  settle 
ment  of  the  Massachusetts  Colony  is  the  great 
ceremonial  to  pass  before  our  eyes  ?  If  it  be 
Cambridge  village,  the  warning  drum  is  beating 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  85 

its  peaceful  summons  to  the  congregation.  If 
it  be  Salem  village,  a  bell  is  sounding  its  more 
ecclesiastic  peal,  and  a  red  flag  is  simultane 
ously  hung  forth  from  the  meeting-house,  like 
the  auction-flag  of  later  periods,  but  offering  in 
this  case  goods  without  money  and  beyond 
price.  If  it  be  Haverhill  village,  then  Abraham 
Tyler  has  been  blowing  his  horn  assiduously  for 
half  an  hour;  a  service  for  which  Abraham, 
each  year,  receives  a  half-pound  of  pork  from 
every  family  in  town. 

Be  it  drum,  bell,  or  horn  that  gives  the  sum 
mons,  we  will  draw  near  to  this  important  build 
ing,  the  centre  of  the  village,  the  one  public 
edifice,  —  meeting-house,  town-house,  school- 
house,  watch-house,  all  in  one.  So  important 
is  it,  that  no  one  can  legally  dwell  more  than  a 
half  mile  from  it.  And  yet  the  people  ride  to 
"meeting,"  short  though  the  distance  be,  for 
at  yonder  oaken  block  a  wife  dismounts  from 
behind  her  husband,  —  and  has  it  not,  more 
over,  been  found  needful  to  impose  a  fine  of 
forty  shillings  on  fast  trotting  to  and  fro  ?  All 
sins  are  not  modern  ones,  young  gentlemen. 

We  approach  nearer  still,  and  come  among 
the  civic  institutions.  This  is  the  pillory,  yon 
der  are  the  stocks,  and  there  is  a  large  wooden 
cage,  a  terror  to  evil-doers,  but  let  us  hope 
empty  now.  Round  the  meeting-house  is  a 


86    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

high  wooden  paling,  to  which  the  law  permits 
citizens  to  tie  their  horses,  provided  it  be  not 
done  too  near  the  passageway.  For  at  that 
opening  stands  a  sentry,  clothed  in  a  suit  of 
armor  which  is  painted  black,  and  cost  the  town 
twenty-four  shillings  by  the  bill.  He  bears  also 
a  heavy  matchlock  musket ;  his  rest,  or  iron 
fork,  is  stuck  in  the  ground,  ready  to  support 
the  weapon ;  and  he  is  girded  with  his  bando 
leer,  or  broad  leather  belt,  which  sustains  a 
sword  and  a  dozen  tin  cartridge-boxes. 

The  meeting-house  is  the  second  to  which  the 
town  has  treated  itself,  the  first  having  been 
"a  timber  fort,  both  strong  and  comely,  with 
flat  roof  and  battlements,"  —  a  cannon  on  top, 
and  the  cannonade  of  the  gospel  down  below. 
But  this  one  cost  the  town  sixty-three  pounds, 
hard-earned  pounds,  and  carefully  expended.  It 
is  built  of  brick,  smeared  outside  with  clay,  and 
finished  with  clay-boards,  larger  than  our  clap 
boards,  outside  of  all.  It  is  about  twenty-five 
feet  square,  with  a  chimney  half  the  width  of 
the  building,  and  projecting  four  feet  above  the 
thatched  roof.  The  steeple  is  in  the  centre, 
and  the  bell-rope,  if  there  be  one,  hangs  in  the 
middle  of  the  broad  aisle.  There  are  six  win 
dows,  two  on  each  side  and  one  at  each  end, 
some  being  covered  with  oiled  paper  only,  others 
glazed  in  numerous  small  panes.  Between  the 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  87 

windows,  on  the  outside,  hang  the  heads  of  all 
the  wolves  that  have  been  killed  in  the  township 
within  the  year ;  but  the  Quakers  think  that  the 
wolves  have  cheated  the  parish  and  got  inside, 
in  sheep's  clothing. 

The  people  are  assembling.  The  Governor 
has  passed  by,  with  his  four  vergers  bearing 
halberds  before  him.  The  French  Popish  am 
bassadors,  who  have  just  arrived  from  Canada, 
are  told  the  customs  of  the  place,  and  left  to 
stay  quietly  in  the  Governor's  house,  with 
sweetmeats,  wines,  and  the  liberty  of  a  private 
walk  in  the  garden.  The  sexton  has  just  called 
for  the  minister,  as  is  his  duty  twice  every  Sun 
day,  and,  removing  his  cocked  hat,  he  walks  be 
fore  his  superior  officer.  The  minister  enters 
and  passes  up  the  aisle,  dressed  in  Geneva  cloak, 
black  skull-cap,  and  black  gloves  open  at  thumb 
and  finger,  for  the  better  handling  of  his  manu 
script.  He  looks  round  upon  his  congregation, 
a  few  hundred,  recently  "  seated  "  anew  for  the 
year,  according  to  rank  and  age.  There  are 
the  old  men  in  the  pews  beneath  the  pulpit. 
There  are  the  young  men  in  the  gallery,  or  near 
the  door,  wearing  ruffs,  showy  belts,  gold  and 
silver  buttons,  "  points  "  at  the  knees,  and  great 
boots.  There  are  the  young  women,  with  "  silk 
or  tiffany  hoods  or  scarfs,"  "embroidered 
or  needle-worked  caps,"  "immoderate  great 


88     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

sleeves,"  "cut-works,"  "  slash  apparel,"  "immod- 
derate  great  vayles,  long  wings,"  etc.,  —  mys 
tery  on  mystery,  but  all  recorded  in  the  statutes, 
which  forbid  these  splendors  to  persons  of  mean 
estate.  There  are  the  wives  of  the  magistrates 
in  prominent  seats,  and  the  grammar-school 
master's  wife  next  them ;  and  in  each  pew,  close 
to  the  mother's  elbow,  is  the  little  wooden  cage 
for  the  youngest  child,  still  too  young  to  sit 
alone.  All  boys  are  deemed  too  young  to  sit 
alone  also ;  for,  though  the  emigrants  left  in 
Holland  the  aged  deaconess  who  there  presided, 
birch  in  hand,  to  control  the  rising  generation 
in  Sunday  meetings,  yet  the  urchins  are  still 
herded  on  the  pulpit  and  gallery-stairs,  with 
four  constables  to  guard  them  from  the  allure 
ments  of  sin.  And  there  sits  Sin  itself  em 
bodied  in  the  shrinking  form  of  some  humiliated 
man  or  woman,  placed  on  a  high  stool  in  the 
principal  aisle,  bearing  the  name  of  some  dark 
crime  written  on  paper  and  pinned  to  the 
garments,  or  perhaps  a  Scarlet  Letter  on  the 
breast. 

Oh  the  silence  of  this  place  of  worship,  after 
the  solemn  service  sets  in !  "  People  do  not 
sneeze  or  cough  here  in  public  assemblies,"  says 
one  writer,  triumphantly,  "  so  much  as  in  Eng 
land."  The  warning  caution,  "Be  short," 
which  the  minister  has  inscribed  above  his  study- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  89 

door,  claims  no  authority  over  his  pulpit.  He 
may  pray  his  hour,  unpausing,  and  no  one  thinks 
it  long ;  for,  indeed,  at  prayer-meetings  four 
persons  will  sometimes  pray  an  hour  each,  —  one 
with  confession,  one  with  private  petitions,  a 
third  with  petitions  for  church  and  kingdom, 
and  a  fourth  with  thanksgiving,  —  each  theme 
being  conscientiously  treated  by  itself.  Then  he 
may  preach  his  hour,  and,  turning  his  hour-glass, 
may  say,  —  but  that  he  cannot  foresee  the  levity 
to  be  born  in  a  later  century  with  Mather  Byles, 
—  "Now,  my  hearers,  we  will  take  another 
glass." 

In  short,  this  is  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  glorious  preaching.  Woe  to  any  one  who 
shall  disturb  its  proprieties  !  It  is  written  in 
the  statute,  "If  any  one  interrupt  or  oppose 
a  preacher  in  season  of  worship,  they  shall  be 
reproved  by  the  magistrate,  and  on  repetition 
shall  pay  £$,  or  stand  two  hours  on  a  block 
four  feet  high,  with  this  inscription  in  capitals, 
'A  Wanton  Gospeller.'  "  Nor  this  alone,  but 
the  law  stands  by  the  minister's  doctrine  even 
out  of  the  meeting-house.  It  is  but  a  few  days 
since  Nathaniel  Hadlock  was  sentenced  to  be 
severely  whipped  for  declaring  that  he  could 
receive  no  profit  from  Mr.  Higginson's  preach 
ing;  since  Thomas  Maule  was  mauled  to  the 
extent  of  ten  stripes  for  declaring  that  Mr. 


90    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Higginson  preached  lies,  and  that  his  instruc 
tion  was  the  doctrine  of  devils ;  since  even  the 
wife  of  Nicholas  Phelps  was  sentenced  to  pay" 
five  pounds  or  be  whipped,  for  asserting  that 
this  same  Mr.  Higginson  sent  abroad  his  wolves 
and  bloodhounds  among  the  sheep  and  lambs. 
Truly,  it  is  a  perilous  thing  to  attend  public 
worship  in  such  reverential  days.  However, 
it  is  equally  dangerous  to  stay  at  home ;  there 
are  tithing-men  to  look  after  the  absentees,  and 
any  one  unnecessarily  absent  must  pay  five 
shillings.  He  may  be  put  in  the  stocks  or  in 
the  wooden  cage,  if  delinquent  for  a  month 
together. 

But  we  must  give  our  attention  to  the  ser 
mon.  It  is  what  the  congregation  will  pro 
nounce  "  a  large,  nervous,  and  golden  discourse," 
a  Scriptural  discourse,  —  like  the  skeleton  of 
the  sea-serpent,  all  backbone  and  a  great  deal  of 
that.  It  may  be  some  very  special  and  famous 
effort.  Perhaps  Increase  Mather  is  preaching 
on  "The  Morning  Star,"  or  on  "  Snow,"  or  on 
"  The  Voice  of  God  in  Stormy  Winds  ;  "  or  it 
may  be  his  sermon  entitled  "Burnings  Be 
wailed,"  to  improve  the  lesson  of  some  great 
conflagration,  which  he  attributes  partly  to 
Sabbath-breaking  and  partly  to  the  new  fashion 
of  monstrous  periwigs.  Or  it  may  be  Cotton 
Mather,  his  son,  rolling  forth  his  resounding  dis- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  91 

course  during  a  thunder-storm,  entitled  "  Bran- 
tologia  Sacra,"  —  consisting  of  seven  separate 
divisions  or  thunderbolts,  and  rilled  with  sharp 
lightning  from  Scripture  and  the  Rabbinical 
lore,  and  Cartesian  natural  philosophy.  Just 
as  he  has  proclaimed,  "In  the  thunder  there 
is  the  voice  of  the  glorious  God,"  a  messenger 
comes  hastening  in,  as  in  the  Book  of  Job,  to 
tell  him  that  his  own  house  has  just  been 
struck,  and  though  no  person  is  hurt,  yet  the 
house  hath  been  much  torn  and  filled  with  the 
lightnings.  With  what  joy  and  power  he  in 
stantly  employs  for  his  audience  this  providen 
tial  surplus  of  excitement,  like  some  scientific 
lecturer  who  has  nearly  blown  himself  up  by  his 
own  experiments,  and  proceeds  with  fresh  con 
fidence,  the  full  power  of  his  compound  being 
incontestably  shown.  Rising  with  the  emer 
gency  into  unwonted  force,  he  tells  them  that, 
as  he  once  had  in  his  house  a  magnet  which  the 
thunder  changed  instantly  from  north  to  south, 
so  it  were  well  if  the  next  bolt  could  change 
their  stubborn  souls  from  Satan  to  God.  But 
afterward  he  is  compelled  to  own  that  Satan 
also  is  sometimes  permitted  to  have  a  hand  in 
the  thunder,  which  is  the  reason  why  it  breaks 
oftener  on  churches  than  on  any  other  build 
ings  ;  and  elsewhere  he  repeats  that  churches 
and  ministers'  houses  have  undoubtedly  the 
larger  share. 


92    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

The  sermon  is  over.  The  more  demoralized 
among  the  little  boys,  whose  sleepy  eyes  have 
been  more  than  once  admonished  by  the  hare's- 
foot  wand  of  the  constables,  —  the  sharp  paw 
is  used  for  the  boys,  the  soft  fur  is  kept  for  the 
smooth  foreheads  of  drowsy  maidens,  —  look 
up  thoroughly  awakened  now.  Bright  eyes 
glance  from  beneath  silk  or  tiffany  hoods,  for 
a  little  interlude  is  coming.  Many  things  may 
happen  in  this  pause  after  the  sermon.  Ques 
tions  may  be  asked  of  the  elders  now,  which 
the  elders  may  answer  —  if  they  can.  Some 
lay  brother  may  "  exercise  "  on  a  text  of  Scrip 
ture  ;  rather  severe  exercise,  it  sometimes  turns 
out.  Candidates  for  the  church  may  be  pro 
posed.  A  baptism  may  take  place.  If  it  be 
the  proper  month,  the  laws  against  profaning 
the  Sabbath  may  be  read.  The  last  town  regu 
lations  may  be  read ;  or,  far  more  exciting,  a 
new  marriage  may  be  published.  Or  a  darker 
scene  may  follow,  and  some  offending  magis 
trate  may  be  required  to  stand  upon  a  bench, 
in  his  worst  garments,  with  a  foul  linen  cap 
drawn  close  to  his  eyes,  and  acknowledge  his 
sins  before  the  pious  people,  who  reverenced 
him  so  lately. 

These  things  done,  a  deacon  says  impres 
sively,  "  Brethren,  now  there  is  time  for  contri 
bution  ;  wherefore,  as  God  hath  prospered  you, 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  93 

so  freely  offer."  Then  the  people  in  the  gal 
leries  come  down  and  march  two  abreast,  "  up 
one  ile  and  down  the  other,"  passing  before 
the  desk,  where  in  a  long  "  pue  "  sit  the  elders 
and  deacons.  One  of  these  holds  a  money 
box,  into  which  the  worshippers  put  their  offer 
ings,  usually  varying  from  one  to  five  shillings, 
according  to  their  ability  and  good-will.  Some 
give  paper  pledges  instead ;  and  others  give 
other  valuables,  such  as  "a  fair  gilt  cup,  with 
a  cover,"  for  the  communion-service.  Then 
comes  a  psalm,  read,  line  after  line,  out  of  the 
"Bay  Psalm-Book,"  and  sung  by  the  people. 
These  psalms  are  sung  regularly  through,  four 
every  Sunday,  and  some  .ten  tunes  compose  the 
whole  vocal  range  of  the  congregation.  Then 
come  the  words,  "Blessed  are  they  who  hear 
the  word  of  the  Lord  and  keep  it,"  and  then 
the  benediction. 

And  then  the  reverend  divine  descends  from 
his  desk  and  walks  down  the  aisle,  bowing 
gravely  right  and  left  to  his  people,  not  one  of 
whom  stirs  till  the  minister  has  gone  out ;  and 
then  the  assembly  disperses,  each  to  his  own 
home,  unless  it  be  some  who  have  come  from 
a  distance,  and  stay  to  eat  their  cold  pork  and 
peas  in  the  meeting-house. 

But  it  is  time  to  put  aside  this  panorama  of 
the  three-hours'  Sunday  service  of  two  centu- 


94    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ries  ago,  lest  that  which  was  not  called  weari 
some  in  the  passing  prove  wearisome  in  the  de 
lineation  now.  It  needed  all  this  series  of  small 
details  to  show  how  widely  the  externals  of 
New  England  church-going  have  changed  since 
those  early  days.  But  what  must  have  been 
the  daily  life  of  that  Puritan  minister  for  whom 
this  exhausting  service  was  but  one  portion  of 
the  task  of  life !  Truly,  they  were  "  pious  and 
painfull  preachers  "  then,  as  I  have  read  upon 
a  stone  in  the  old  Watertown  graveyard, — 
"princely  preachers"  Cotton  Mather  calls  them. 
He  relates  that  Mr.  Cotton,  in  addition  to  preach 
ing  on  Sunday  and  holding  his  ordinary  lecture 
every  Thursday,  preached  thrice  a  week  be 
sides,  on  Wednesday  and  Thursday  early  in 
the  morning,  and  on  Saturday  afternoon.  He 
also  held  a  daily  lecture  in  his  house,  which  was 
at  last  abandoned  as  being  too  much  thronged, 
and  frequent  occasional  days  occurred,  when  he 
would  spend  six  hours  "in  the  word  and  in 
prayer."  On  his  voyage  to  this  country,  he 
being  accompanied  by  two  other  ministers,  they 
commonly  had  three  sermons  a  day,  —  one  af 
ter  every  meal.  He  was  "  an  universal  scholar 
and  a  walking  library ; "  he  studied  twelve 
hours  a  day,  and  said  he  liked  to  sweeten  his 
mouth  with  a  piece  of  Calvin  before  he  went  to 
sleep. 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  95 

A  fearful  rate  of  labor ;  a  strange,  grave, 
quaint,  ascetic,  rigorous  life.  It  seems  a  mys 
tery  how  the  Reverend  Joshua  Moody  could 
have  survived  to  write  four  thousand  sermons, 
but  it  is  no  mystery  why  the  Reverend  John 
Mitchell  was  called  "a  truly  aged  young  man " 
at  thirty,  especially  when  we  consider  that  he 
was  successor  at  Cambridge  to  "the  holy, 
heavenly,  sweet-affecting,  and  soul-ravishing 
Mr.  Shepard,"  in  continuation  of  whose  labors 
he  kept  a  monthly  lecture,  "  wherein  he  largely 
handled  man's  misery  by  sin  and  made  a  most 
entertaining  exposition  of  the  Book  of  Genesis." 

Indeed,  the  minister's  week-days  were  more 
arduous  than  his  Sundays,  and  to  have  for  each 
parish  a  pastor  and  a  teacher  still  left  a  for 
midable  share  of  duty  for  each.  He  must  visit 
families  during  several  afternoons  in  every 
week,  sending  previous  notice,  so  that  children 
and  domestics  might  be  ready  for  catechising. 
He  was  "much  visited  for  counsel  "  in  his  own 
home,  and  must  set  apart  one  day  in  the  week 
for  cases  of  conscience,  ranging  from  the  most 
fine-drawn  self-tormentings  to  the  most  unnat 
ural  secret  crimes.  He  must  often  go  to  lec 
tures  in  neighboring  towns,  a  kind  of  religious 
dissipation  which  increased  so  fast  that  the 
Legislature  at  last  interfered  to  restrict  it.  He 
must  have  five  or  six  separate  seasons  for 


96    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

private  prayer  daily,  devoting  each  day  in  the 
week  to  special  meditations  and  intercessions, 
—  as  Monday  to  his  family,  Tuesday  to  ene 
mies,  Wednesday  to  the  churches,  Thursday 
to  other  societies,  Friday  to  persons  afflicted, 
and  Saturday  to  his  own  soul.  He  must  have 
private  fasts,  spending  whole  days  locked  in  his 
study  and  whole  nights  prostrate  on  the  floor. 
Cotton  Mather  "thought  himself  starved,"  un 
less  he  fasted  once  a  month  at  farthest,  while 
he  often  did  it  twice  in  a  week.  Then  there 
were  public  fasts  quite  frequently,  "  because  of 
sins,  blasting,  mildews,  drought,  grasshoppers, 
caterpillars,  small-pox,"  "loss  of  cattle  by  cold 
and  frowns  of  Providence."  Perhaps  a  mouse 
and  a  snake  had  a  battle  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  minister  must  expound  it  as  "  symboliz 
ing  the  conflict  betwixt  Satan  and  God's  poor 
people,"  the  latter  being  the  mouse  triumphant. 
Then  if  there  were  a  military  expedition,  the 
minister  might  think  it  needful  to  accompany 
it.  If  there  were  even  a  muster,  he  must  open 
and  close  it  with  prayer,  or,  in  his  absence,  the 
captain  must  officiate. 

One  would  naturally  add  to  this  record  of 
labors  the  attendance  on  weddings  and  funerals. 
It  is  strange  how  few  years  are  required  to 
make  any  usage  seem  ancestral,  or  to  revive  it 
after  long  neglect.  Who  now  remembers  that 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  97 

our  progenitors  for  more  than  a  century  disused 
religious  services  on  both  these  solemn  occa 
sions  ?  Magistrates  alone  could  perform  the 
marriage  ceremony ;  though  it  was  thought  to 
be  carrying  the  monopoly  quite  too  far  when 
Governor  Bellingham,  in  1641,  officiated  at  his 
own.  Prayer  was  absolutely  forbidden  at  funer 
als,  as  was  done  also  by  Calvin  at  Geneva,  by 
John  Knox  in  Scotland,  by  the  English  Puri 
tans  in  the  Westminster  Assembly,  and  by  the 
French  Huguenots.  The  bell  might  ring,  the 
friends  might  walk,  two  and  two,  to  the  grave ; 
but  there  must  be  no  prayer  uttered.  The 
secret  was  that  the  traditions  of  the  English 
and  Romish  churches  must  be  systematically 
set  aside.  "  Doctor,"  said  King  James  to  a 
Puritan  divine,  "do  you  go  barefoot  because 
the  Papists  wear  shoes  and  stockings  ? "  Even 
the  origin  of  the  frequent  New  England  habit 
of  eating  salt  fish  on  Saturday  is  supposed  to 
have  been  the  fact  that  Roman  Catholics  ate 
it  on  Friday. 

But  if  there  were  no  prayers  said  on  these 
occasions,  there  were  sermons.  Mr.  John  Calf, 
of  Newbury,  described  one  specimen  of  funeral 
sermon  in  immortal  verse  :  — 

"  On  Sabbath  day  he  went  his  way, 

As  he  was  used  to  do, 
God's  house  unto,  that  they  might  know 
What  he  had  for  to  show  ; 


98     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

God's  holy  will  he  must  fulfil, 

For  it  was  his  desire 
For  to  declare  a  sermon  rare 

Concerning  Madam  Fryer." 

The  practice  of  wedding  discourses  was  handed 
down  into  the  last  century,  and  sometimes  be 
guiled  the  persons  concerned  into  rather  star 
tling  levities.  For  instance,  when  Parson  Smith's 
daughter  Mary  was  to  marry  young  Mr.  Cranch, 
the  father  permitted  the  saintly  maiden  to  de 
cide  on  her  own  text  for  the  sermon,  and  she 
meekly  selected,  "  Mary  hath  chosen  the  better 
part,  which  shall  not  be  taken  away  from  her," 
and  the  discourse  was  duly  pronounced.  But 
when  her  wild  young  sister  Abby  was  bent  on 
marrying  a  certain  John  Adams,  whom  her 
father  disliked  and  would  not  even  invite  to  din 
ner,  she  boldly  suggested  for  her  text,  "John 
came,  neither  eating  bread  nor  drinking  wine, 
and  ye  say  he  hath  a  devil."  But  no  sermon 
stands  recorded  under  this  prefix,  though  Abby 
lived  to  be  the  wife  of  one  President  of  the 
United  States  and  mother  of  another. 

The  Puritan  minister  had  public  duties  also 
upon  him.  "  New  England  being  a  country," 
said  Cotton  Mather,  "whose  interests  are  re 
markably  enwrapped  in  theological  circum 
stances,  ministers  ought  to  interest  themselves 
in  politics."  Indeed,  for  many  years  they  vir- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  99 

tually  controlled  the  franchise,  inasmuch  as 
only  male  church  members  could  vote  or  hold 
office,  at  least  in  the  Massachusetts  Colony. 
Those  malecontents  who  petitioned  to  enlarge 
the  suffrage  were  fined  and  imprisoned  in  1646, 
and  even  in  1664  the  only  amendment  was  by 
permitting  non-church  members  to  vote  on  a 
formal  certificate  to  their  orthodoxy  from  the 
minister.  The  government  they  aimed  at  was 
not  democracy,  but  theocracy.  "  God  never 
did  ordain  democracy  as  a  fit  government," 
said  Cotton.  Accordingly,  when  Cotton  and 
Ward  framed  their  first  code,  Ward's  portion 
was  rejected  by  the  colony  as  heathen,  —  that 
is,  based  on  Greek  and  Roman  models,  not 
Mosaic,  —  and  Cotton's  was  afterwards  rebuked 
in  England  as  "  fanatical  and  absurd."  But  the 
government  finally  established  was  an  ecclesias 
tical  despotism,  tempered  by  theological  con 
troversy. 

In  Connecticut  it  was  first  the  custom,  and 
then  the  order,  lasting  as  late  as  1708,  that  "the 
ministers  of  the  gospel  should  preach  a  sermon, 
on  the  day  appointed  by  law  for  the  choice  of 
civil  rulers,  proper  for  the  direction  of  the  town 
in  the  work  before  them."  They  wrote  state 
papers,  went  on  embassies,  and  took  the  lead 
at  town  meetings.  At  the  exciting  guberna 
torial  election  in  1637,  Rev.  John  Wilson,  min- 


loo    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ister  of  the  First  Church  in  Boston,  not  satisfied 
with  "taking  the  stump"  for  his  candidate,  took 
to  a  full-grown  tree  and  harangued  the  people 
from  among  the  boughs.  One  might  well  as 
sume  that  the  effect  of  this  predominant  cler 
ical  influence  must  have  been  to  make  the  aim 
of  the  Puritan  codes  lofty,  their  consistency 
unflinching,  their  range  narrow,  and  their  penal 
ties  severe,  —  and  it  certainly  was  so.  Looking 
at  their  educational  provisions,  those  statutes 
all  seem  noble ;  looking  at  their  schedule  of 
sins  and  retributions,  one  wonders  how  any 
rational  being  could  have  endured  them  for  a 
day.  Communities,  like  individuals,  furnish  vir 
tues  piecemeal.  Roger  Williams,  with  all  his 
wise  toleration,  bequeathed  to  Rhode  Island  no 
such  system  of  schools  as  his  persecutors  framed 
for  Massachusetts.  Yet  the  children  who  were 
watched  and  trained  thus  carefully  might  be  put 
to  death,  if  they  "  cursed  their  orderly  parents  " 
after  the  age  of  sixteen ;  not  that  the  penalty 
was  ever  inflicted,  but  it  was  on  the  statute- 
book.  Sabbath-breaking  was  placed  on  a  level 
with  murder,  though  Calvin  himself  had  al 
lowed  the  old  men  to  play  at  bowls  and  the 
young  men  to  practise  military  training,  after 
afternoon  service,  at  Geneva.  Down  to  1769 
not  even  a  funeral  could  take  place  on  Sunday 
in  Massachusetts,  without  license  from  a  magis- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  101 

trate.  Then  the  stocks  and  the  wooden  cage 
were  in  frequent  use,  though  "  barbarous  and 
cruel "  punishments  were  forbidden  in  1641. 
Scolds  and  railers  were  set  on  a  ducking-stool 
and  dipped  over  head  and  ears  three  times, 
in  running  water,  if  possible.  Mrs.  Oliver,  a 
troublesome  theologian,  was  silenced  with  a 
cleft  stick  applied  to  her  tongue.  Thomas 
Scott,  in  1649,  was  sentenced  for  some  offence 
to  learn  "the  chatachise,"  or  be  fined  ten  shil 
lings,  and,  after  due  consideration,  paid  the 
fine.  Sometimes  offenders,  with  a  refinement 
of  cruelty,  were  obliged  to  "  go  and  talk  to  the 
elders."  If  any  youth  made  matrimonial  over 
tures  to  a  young  woman  without  the  consent 
of  her  parents,  or,  in  their  absence,  of  the 
County  Court,  he  was  first  fined  and  then  im 
prisoned.  This  suggests  new  etymology  for 
the  word  "  courting." 

A  good  instance  of  this  mingled  influence 
was  in  the  relation  of  the  ministers  to  the 
Indian  wars.  Roger  Williams,  even  when 
banished  and  powerless,  could  keep  the  peace 
with  the  natives.  But  when  the  brave  Mian- 
tonimo  was  to  be  dealt  with  for  suspected  trea 
son,  and  the  civil  authorities  had  decided,  that, 
though  it  was  unsafe  to  set  him  at  liberty,  they 
yet  had  no  ground  to  put  him  to  death,  the  mat 
ter  was  finally  referred  to  five  "elders,"  and 


102     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Uncas  was  straightway  authorized  to  slay  him 
in  cold  blood.  The  Pequots  were  first  defeated 
and  then  exterminated,  and  their  heroic  King 
Philip,  a  patriot  according  to  his  own  standard, 
was  hunted  like  a  wild  beast,  his  body  quartered 
and  set  on  poles,  his  head  exposed  as  a  trophy 
for  twenty  years  on  a  gibbet  in  Plymouth,  and 
one  of  his  hands  sent  to  Boston  :  then  the  min 
isters  returned  thanks,  and  one  said  that  they 
had  prayed  the  bullet  into  Philip's  heart.  Nay, 
it  seems  that  in  1677,  on  a  Sunday  in  Marble- 
head,  "  the  women,  as  they  came  out  of  the 
meeting-house,  fell  upon  two  Indians,  that  had 
been  brought  in  as  captives,  and  in  a  tumultuous 
way  very  barbarously  murdered  them,"  in  re 
venge  for  the  death  of  some  fishermen  :  a  moral 
application  which  throws  a  singular  light  on  the 
style  of  gospel  prevailing  inside  the  meeting 
house  that  day.  But  it  is  good  to  know,  on  the 
other  side,  that,  when  the  Commissioners  of  the 
United  Colonies  had  declared  an  Indian  war, 
and  the  Massachusetts  Colony  had  afterwards 
become  convinced  that  the  war  was  unrighteous, 
the  troops  were  recalled,  though  already  far  to 
wards  the  field,  no  pride  or  policy  preventing 
the  original  order  from  being  rescinded. 

These  were  some  of  the  labors  of  the  .clergy. 
But  no  human  being  lives  without  relaxation,  and 
they  may  have  had  theirs.  True,  "ministers 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  103 

have  little  to  joy  in  in  this  world,"  wrote  old 
Norton ;  and  one  would  think  so,  on  reading  the 
dismal  diaries,  printed  or  manuscript,  of  those 
days.  "  I  can  compare  with  any  man  living  for 
fears,"  said  Hooker.  "I  have  sinned  myself 
into  darkness,"  said  Bailey.  "Many  times  have 
I  been  ready  to  lay  down  my  ministry,  thinking 
God  had  forsaken  me."  "  I  was  almost  in  the 
'  suburbs  of  hell  all  day."  Yet  who  can  say  that 
this  habit  of  agonizing  introspection  wholly  shut 
out  the  trivial  enjoyments  of  daily  life?  Who 
drank,  for  instance,  those  twelve  gallons  of  sack 
and  those  six  gallons  of  white  wine  which  the 
General  Court  thought  it  convenient  that  the 
Auditor  should  send,  "  as  a  small  testimony  of 
the  Court's  respect,  to  the  reverend  assembly 
of  Elders  at  Cambridge,"  in  1644  ?  Did  the 
famous  Cambridge  Platform  rest,  like  the  earth 
in  the  Hebrew  cosmology,  upon  the  waters  — 
strong  waters?  Was  it  only  the  Deny  Pres 
byterians  who  would  never  give  up  a  p'int  of 
doctrine  nor  a  pint  of  rum  ?  It  is  startling  to 
remember  that  in  1685  it  was  voted,  on  occasion 
of  a  public  funeral,  that  "  some  person  be  ap 
pointed  to  look  after  the  burning  of  the  wine 
and  the  heating  of  the  cider,"  and  to  hear  that, 
on  this  occasion  there  were  thirty-two  gallons 
of  wine  and  still  more  of  cider,  with  one  hun 
dred  and  four  pounds  of  that  insnaring  acces- 


104     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

sory,  sugar.  Francis  Higginson,  in  writing  back 
to  the  mother  country  that  one  sup  of  New 
England's  air  was  better  than  a  whole  draught 
of  Old  England's  ale,  gave  convincing  proof 
that  he  had  tasted  both  beverages.  But,  after 
all,  the  very  relaxations  of  the  Puritan  minister 
were  more  spiritual  than  spirituous,  and  to  send 
forth  a  good  Nineteenthly  from  his  own  lips  was 
more  relishing  than  to  have  the  best  Double  X 
go  in. 

In  spite  of  the  dignity  of  this  influential  class, 
its  members  were  called  only  Elders  for  a  long 
time.  Titles  were  carefully  adjusted  in  those 
days.  The  commonalty  bore  the  appellations  of 
Goodman  and  Goodwif e,  and  one  of  Roger  Wil- 
liams's  offences  was  that  of  wishing  to  limit 
these  terms  to  those  who  gave  some  signs  of 
deserving  them.  The  name  "  Mr."  was  allowed 
to  those  who  had  taken  the  degree  of  Master  of 
Arts  at  college  and  also  to  professional  men, 
eminent  merchants,  military  officers,  and  mates 
of  vessels ;  and  their  wives  and  daughters  mo 
nopolized  the  epithet  "  Mrs."  Mr.  Josiah  Plas- 
tow,  when  he  had  stolen  four  baskets  of  corn 
from  the  Indians,  was  degraded  into  plain  Jo 
siah.  "Mr."  seems  to  have  meant  simply  "My 
Sir,"  and  the  clergy  were  often  called  "Sir" 
merely,  a  title  given  also  to  college  graduates, 
on  Commencement  programmes,  down  to  the 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  105 

time  of  the  Revolution.  So  strong  was  the 
Puritan  dislike  to  the  idolatry  implied  in  saints' 
names,  that  the  Christian  Apostles  were  some 
times  designated  as  Sir  Paul,  Sir  Peter,  and  Sir 
James. 

In  coming  to  the  private  affairs  of  the  Puritan 
divines,  it  is  humiliating  to  find  that  anxieties 
about  salary  are  of  no  modern  origin.  The 
highest  compensation  I  can  find  recorded  is  that 
of  John  Higginson  in  1671,  who  had  £160 
voted  him  "in  country  produce,"  which  he  was 
glad,  however,  to  exchange  for  £120  in  solid 
cash.  Solid  cash  included  beaver-skins,  black 
and  white  wampum,  beads,  and  musket-balls, 
value  one  farthing.  Mr.  Woodbridge  in  New- 
bury  at  this  same  time  had  £60,  and  Mr.  Epes 
preached  in  Salem  for  twenty  shillings  a  Sun 
day,  half  in  money  and  half  in  provisions.  Holy 
Mr.  Cotton  used  to  say  that  nothing  was  cheap 
in  New  England  but  milk  and  ministers.  Down 
to  1700,  Increase  Mather  says,  most  salaries 
were  less  than  £100,  which  he  thinks  "  might 
account  for  the  scanty  harvests  enjoyed  by  our 
farmers."  He  and  his  son  Cotton  both  tell  the 
story  of  a  town  where  "  two  very  eminent  min 
isters  were  only  allowed  ^30  per  annum,"  and 
"  the  God  who  will  not  be  mocked  made  them 
lose  ^300  worth  of  cattle  that  year."  Cotton 
Mather  also  complains  that  the  people  were  very 


106    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

willing  to  consider  the  ministers  the  stars, 
rather  than  the  mere  lamps,  of  the  churches, 
provided  they,  like  the  stars,  would  shine  with 
out  earthly  contributions. 

He  also  calls  the  terms  of  payment,  in  one 
of  his  long  words,  "  Synecdotical  Pay,"  —  in 
allusion  to  that  rhetorical  figure  by  which  a  part 
is  used  for  the  whole.  And  apparently  various 
causes  might  produce  this  Synecdoche;  for  I 
have  seen  an  anonymous  "Plea  for  Ministers 
of  the  Gospel,"  in  1706,  which  complains  that 
"  young  ministers  have  often  occasion  in  their 
preaching  to  speak  things  offensive  to  some  of 
the  wealthiest  people  in  town,  on  which  occa 
sion  they  may  withhold  a  considerable  part  of 
their  maintenance."  It  is  a  comfort  to  think 
how  entirely  this  source  of  discomfort,  at  least, 
is  now  eradicated  from  the  path  of  the  clergy  ; 
and  it  is  painful  to  think  that  there  ever  was  a 
period  when  wealthy  parishioners  did  not  enjoy 
the  delineation  of  their  own  sins. 

However,  the  ministerial  households  contrived 
to  subsist,  in  spite  of  rhetorical  tropes  and 
malecontent  millionaires.  The  Puritan  divine 
could  commonly  afford  not  only  to  keep  house, 
but  to  keep  horse  likewise,  and  to  enjoy  the  pet 
professional  felicity  of  printing  his  own  sermons. 
As  to  the  last  privilege  there  could  have  been 
no  great  trouble,  for  booksellers  were  growing 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  107 

rich  in  New  England  as  early  as  1677,  —  accord 
ing  to  the  traveller  Dunton,  who  was  himself  in 
that  line  of  business,  —  and  Cotton  Mather 
published  three  hundred  and  eighty-two  differ 
ent  works  for  his  own  share.  Books  were  abun 
dant  enough  at  that  day,  though  somewhat  grim 
and  dingy,  and  two  complete  Puritan  libraries  are 
preserved  in  the  rich  collection  of  the  American 
Antiquarian  Society  at  Worcester, — without 
whose  treasures,  let  me  add,  this  modest  mono 
graph  never  could  have  been  written.  As  for 
the  minister's  horse,  the  moral  sentiment  of  the 
community  protected  him  faithfully  ;  for  a  man 
was  fined  in  Newbury  for  "  killing  our  elder's 
mare,  and  a  special  good  beast  she  was."  The 
minister's  house  was  built  by  the  town ;  in 
Salem  it  was  "13  feet  stud,  23  by  42,  four 
chimnies,  and  no  gable-ends,"  —  so  that  the 
House  with  Seven  Gables  belonged  to  some 
body  else ;  and  the  Selectmen  ordered  all  men 
to  appear  with  teams  on  a  certain  day  and  put 
the  minister's  grounds  in  order. 

Inside  the  parsonage-house,  however,  there 
was  sometimes  trouble.  Rev.  Ezekiel  Rogers 
wrote  in  1657  to  his  brother  in  England : 
"  Much  ado  I  have  with  my  own  family  ;  hard 
to  get  a  servant  who  enjoys  catechising  or  fam 
ily  duties.  I  had  a  rare  blessing  of  servants 
in  England,  and  those  I  brought  over  were  a 


io8     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

blessing ;  but  the  young  brood  doth  much  afflict 
me."  Probably  the  minister's  wife  had  the 
worst  of  this  ;  but  she  seems  to  have  been  gen 
erally,  like  the  modern  minister's  wife,  a  saint, 
and  could  bear  it.  Cotton  Mather,  indeed, 
quotes  triumphantly  the  Jewish  phrase  for  a 
model  woman,  —  "  one  who  deserves  to  marry 
a  priest ; "  and  one  of  the  most  singular  pas 
sages  in  the  history  of  the  human  heart  is  this 
old  gentleman's  own  narrative,  in  his  manu 
script  diary,  of  a  passionate  love-adventure,  in 
his  later  years,  with  a  fascinating  young  girl, 
an  "  ingenious  child,"  as  he  calls  her,  whom  his 
parish  thought  by  no  means  a  model  for  her 
sex,  but  from  whom  it  finally  took  three  days 
of  solitary  fasting  and  prayer  to  wean  him. 

He  was  not  the  only  Puritan  minister  who 
bestowed  his  heart  somewhat  strangely.  Rev. 
John  Mitchell,  who  succeeded  the  soul-ravishing 
Shepard  at  Cambridge,  as  aforesaid,  married 
his  predecessor's  widow  "  on  the  general  recom 
mendation  of  her,"  and  the  college  students 
were  greatly  delighted,  as  one  might  imagine. 
Rev.  Michael  Wigglesworth,  in  1691,  wooed  the 
Widow  A  very  in  a  written  discourse,  which  I 
have  seen  in  manuscript,  arranged  under  twelve 
different  heads,  —  one  of  which  treats  of  the 
prospect  of  his  valuable  life  being  preserved 
longer  by  her  care.  She  having  children  of  her 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  109 

own,  he  offers  mysteriously  to  put  some  of  his 
own  children  "  out  of  the  way,"  if  necessary, 
—  a  hint  which  becomes  formidable  when  one 
remembers  that  he  was  the  author  of  that  once 
famous  theological  poem,  "  The  Day  of  Doom," 
in  which  he  relentingly  assigned  to  infants, 
because  they  had  sinned  only  in  Adam,  "  the 
easiest  room  in  hell."  But  he  wedded  the  lady, 
and  they  were  apparently  as  happy  as  if  he  had 
not  been  a  theologian  ;  and  I  have  seen  the 
quaint  little  heart-shaped  locket  he  gave  her, 
bearing  an  anchor  and  a  winged  heart  and 
"Thine  forever." 

Let  us  glance  now  at  some  of  the  larger 
crosses  of  the  Puritan  minister.  First  came  a 
"  young  brood "  of  heretics  to  torment  him. 
Gorton's  followers  were  exasperating  enough  ; 
they  had  to  be  confined  in  irons  separately,  one 
in  each  town,  on  pain  of  death,  if  they  preached 
their  doctrines,  —  and  of  course  they  preached 
them.  But  their  offences  and  penalties  were 
light  compared  with  those  of  the  Quakers. 
When  the  Quakers  assembled  by  themselves, 
their  private  doors  might  be  broken  open,  — 
a  thing  which  Lord  Chatham  said  the  King  of 
England  could  not  do  for  any  one,  —  they  might 
be  arrested  without  warrant,  tried  without  jury, 
for  the  first  offence  be  fined,  for  the  second  lose 
one  ear,  for  the  third  lose  the  other  ear,  and  for 


no    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  fourth  be  bored  with  red-hot  iron  through 
the  tongue,  though  this  last  penalty  remained 
a  dead  letter.  They  could  be  stripped  to  the 
waist,  tied  to  a  cart,  and  whipped  through  town 
after  town.  Three  women  were  whipped 
through  eleven  towns,  eighty  miles ;  but  after 
wards  the  number  was  limited  to  three.  Their 
testimony  was  invalid,  their  families  attainted, 
and  those  who  harbored  them  were  fined  forty 
shillings  an  hour.  They  might  be  turned  out 
shelterless  among  wolves  and  bears  and  frosts  ; 
they  could  be  branded  H  for  Heretic,  and  R  for 
Rogue ;  they  could  be  sold  as  slaves ;  and  their 
graves  must  not  be  fenced  to  keep  off  wild 
beasts,  lest  their  poor  afflicted  bodies  should 
find  rest  there. 

Yet  in  this  same  age  Quaker  women  had 
gone  as  missionaries  to  Malta  and  to  Turkey 
and  returned  unharmed.  No  doubt  the  monks 
and  the  Sultan  looked  with  dismay  on  the 
"plain  clothing;"  and  the  Inquisition  im 
prisoned  the  missionaries,  though  the  Sultan 
did  not.  But  meanwhile  the  Quaker  women  in 
New  England  might  be  walking  to  execution 
with  their  male  companions  —  like  Mary  Dyer 
in  Boston,  under  an  armed  guard  of  two  hun 
dred,  led  on  by  a  minister  seventy  years  old, 
and  the  fiercer  for  every  year.  When  they 
asked  Mary  Dyer,  "Are  you  not  ashamed  to 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  in 

walk  thus  hand  in  hand  between  two  young 
men  ? "  she  answered,  "  No,  this  is  to  me  an 
hour  of  the  greatest  joy  I  could  enjoy  in  this 
world.  No  tongue  could  utter  and  no  heart 
understand  the  sweet  influence  of  the  Spirit 
which  now  I  feel."  Then  they  placed  her  on 
the  scaffold,  and  covered  her  face  with  a  hand 
kerchief  which  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  lent 
the  hangman  ;  and  when  they  heard  that  she 
was  reprieved,  she  would  not  come  down,  saying 
that  she  would  suffer  with  her  brethren.  And 
suffer  death  she  did,  at  last,  and  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Wilson  made  a  pious  ballad  on  her  execu 
tion. 

It  is  no  wonder  if  some  persons  declare  that 
about  this  time  the  wheat  of  Massachusetts 
began  to  be  generally  blasted,  and  the  peas  to 
grow  wormy.  It  is  no  wonder  that,  when  the 
witchcraft  excitement  came  on,  the  Quakers 
called  it  a  retribution  for  these  things.  But  let 
us  be  just,  even  to  the  unjust.  Toleration  was 
a  new-born  virtue  in  those  days,  and  one  which 
no  Puritan  ever  for  a  moment  recognized  as 
such,  or  asked  to  have  exercised  toward  himself. 
In  England  they  did  not  wish  to  be  tolerated 
for  a  day  as  sectaries,  for  they  claimed  to  have 
authority  as  the  one  true  church.  They  held 
with  Pym  that  "  it  is  the  duty  of  legislators  to 
establish  the  true  religion  and  to  punish  false," 


112     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

—  a  doctrine  equally  fatal,  whether  applied  to 
enforce  the  right  theology  or  the  wrong.  They 
objected  to  the  Church  of  England,  not  that  it 
persecuted,  but  that  its  persecution  was  wrongly 
aimed.  It  is,  therefore,  equally  absurd  to  praise 
them  for  a  toleration  they  never  professed, 
and  to  accuse  them  of  inconsistency  when  they 
practised  intolerance.  They  have  been  so 
loosely  praised,  that  they  are  as  loosely  blamed. 
What  was  great  in  them  was  their  heroism  of 
soul,  not  their  largeness.  They  sought  the 
American  wilderness,  not  to  indulge  the  con 
sciences  of  others,  but  to  exercise  their  own. 
They  said  to  the  Quakers,  "  We  seek  not  your 
death,  but  your  absence."  Even  the  penalties 
they  inflicted  was  only  an  alternative  sentence ; 
all  they  asked  of  the  Quakers  was  to  keep  out 
of  their  settlements  and  let  them  alone.  More 
over,  their  worst  penalties  were  borrowed  from 
the  English  laws,  and  only  four  offenders  were 
put  to  death  from  the  beginning,  —  of  course, 
four  too  many. 

Again,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the 
Quaker  peculiarities  were  not  theological  only, 
but  political  and  social  also.  Everything  that 
the  Puritan  system  of  government  asserted  the 
Quakers  denied ;  they  rendered  no  allegiance, 
owned  no  laws,  paid  no  taxes,  bore  no  arms. 
With  the  best  possible  intentions,  they  sub- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  113 

verted  all  established  order.  Then  their  modes 
of  action  were  very  often  intemperate  and  vio 
lent.  One  can  hardly  approve  the  condemna 
tion  pronounced  by  Cotton  Mather  upon  a  cer 
tain  man  among  the  Friends  in  those  days, 
who  could  control  a  mad  bull  that  would  rend 
any  other  man.  But  it  was  oftener  the  zealots 
themselves  who  needed  taming.  Running  naked 
through  the  public  streets ;  coming  into  meet 
ing  dressed  in  sackcloth,  with  ashes  on  their 
heads  and  nothing  on  their  feet ;  or  sitting 
there  with  their  hats  on,  groaning  and  rocking 
to  and  fro,  in  spite  of  elders,  deacons,  and 
tithingmen :  these  were  the  vagaries  of  the 
more  fanatical  Quakers,  though  always  repudi 
ated  by  the  main  body.  The  Puritans  found 
themselves  reproached  with  permitting  these 
things,  and  so  took  refuge  in  outrageous  perse 
cutions,  which  doubled  them.  Indeed,  the 
Friends  themselves  began  to  persecute,  on  no 
greater  provocation,  in  Philadelphia,  thirty  years 
afterwards,  playing  over  again  upon  George 
Keith  and  his  followers  the  same  deluded  pol 
icy  of  fines  and  imprisonment  from  which  they 
had  just  escaped ;  as  minorities  have  persecuted 
smaller  minorities  ever  since  intolerance  began. 
Indeed,  so  far  as  mere  language  went,  the 
minority  did  their  full  share.  Grave  divines  did 
not  like  to  be  pelted  with  such  epithets  as 


114    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

these :  "  Thou  fiery  fighter  and  green-headed 
trumpeter !  thou  hedgehog  and  grinning  dog ! 
thou  mole  !  thou  tinker !  thou  lizard  !  thou  bell  of 
no  metal  but  the  tone  of  a  kettle !  thou  wheel 
barrow  !  thou  whirlpool !  thou  whirligig !  thou 
firebrand  !  thou  moon-calf !  thou  ragged  tatter 
demalion  !  thou  gormandizing  priest !  thou  bane 
of  reason  and  beast  of  the  earth !  thou  best  to 
be  spared  of  all  mankind  !  "  —  all  of  which  are 
genuine  epithets  from  the  Quaker  books  of  that 
period,  and  termed  by  Cotton  Mather,  who  col 
lected  them,  "quills  of  the  porcupine."  They 
surpass  even  Dr.  Chauncy's  catalogue  of  the 
unsavory  epithets  used  by  Whitefield  and  Ten- 
nent  a  century  later ;  and  it  was  not  likely  that 
they  would  be  tolerated  by  a  race  whose  rever 
ence  for  men  in  authority  was  so  comprehen 
sive  that  they  actually  fined  some  one  for  re 
marking  that  Major  Phillips's  old  mare  was  as 
lean  as  an  Indian's  dog. 

There  is  a  quaint  anecdote  preserved,  show 
ing  the  continuance  of  the  Quaker  feud  in  full 
vigor  as  lately  as  1705.  A  youth  among  the 
Friends  wished  to  espouse  a  fair  Puritan 
maiden ;  but  the  Quakers  disapproved  his  mar 
rying  out  of  their  society,  and  the  Congrega- 
tionalists  his  marrying  into  theirs  ;  so  in  despair 
he  thus  addressed  her  :  "  Ruth,  let  us  break 
from  this  unreasonable  bondage.  I  will  give 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  115 

up  my  religion,  and  thou  shalt  give  up  thine  ; 
and  we  will  marry  and  go  into  the  Church  of 
England,  and  go  to  the  Devil  together."  And 
they  fulfilled  the  resolution,  the  Puritan  histo 
rian  says,  so  far  as  going  into  the  Church,  and 
marrying,  and  staying  there  for  life. 

With  the  same  careful  discrimination  we  must 
try  to  study  the  astonishing  part  played  by  the 
ministers  in  the  witchcraft  delusions.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  the  belief  in  this  visitation 
was  no  new  or  peculiar  thing  in  New  England. 
The  Church,  the  Scriptures,  the  mediaeval  laws, 
had  all  made  it  a  capital  crime.  There  had  been 
laws  against  it  in  England  for  a  hundred  years. 
Bishop  Jewell  had  complained  to  Queen  Eliza 
beth  of  the  alarming  increase  of  witches  and 
sorcerers.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  had  pronounced 
it  flat  atheism  to  doubt  them.  High  legal  and 
judicial  authorities,  as  Dalton,  Keeble,  Sir 
Matthew  Hale,  had  described  this  crime  as  defi 
nitely  and  seriously  as  any  other.  In  Scotland 
four  thousand  had  suffered  death  for  it  in  ten 
years ;  Cologne,  Nuremberg,  Geneva,  Paris, 
were  executing  hundreds  every  year  ;  even  in 
1749  a  girl  was  burnt  alive  in  Wiirtzburg ;  and 
is  it  strange  if,  during  all  that  wild  excitement, 
Massachusetts  put  to  death  twenty  ?  The  only 
wonder  is  in  the  independence  of  the  Rhode 
Island  people,  who  declared  that  "  there  were 


n6     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS^ 

no  witches  on  the  earth,  nor  devils,  —  except" 
(as  they  profanely  added)  "the  New  England 
ministers,  and  such  as  they." 

John  Higginson  sums  it  up  best :  "  They  pro 
ceeded  in  their  integrity  with  a  zeal  of  God 
against  sin,  according  to  their  best  light  and  law 
and  evidence."  "But  there  is  a  question,"  he 
wisely  adds,  "  whether  some  of  the  laws,  cus 
toms,  and  privileges  used  by  judges  and  juries 
in  England,  which  were  followed  as  patterns 
here,  were  not  insufficient."  Cotton  Mather 
also  declared  that  he  observed  in  judges  and 
juries  a  conscientious  endeavor  to  do  the  thing 
which  was  right,  and  gives  a  long  list  of  the 
legal  authorities  whom  they  consulted ;  observ 
ing,  finally,  that  the  fact  of  fifty  confessions 
was,  after  all,  the  one  irresistible  vindication  of 
their  strong  measures. 

It  must  have  been  so.  Common-sense  and 
humanity  might  have  refuted  every  other  evi 
dence  than  that  of  the  victims  themselves.  But 
what  were  the  authorities  to  do,  when,  in  addi 
tion  to  all  legal  and  Scriptural  precedents,  the 
prisoners  insisted  on  entering  a  plea  of  guilty  ? 

When  Goody  E testified  that  she  and  two 

others  rode  from  Andover  to  a  witch-meeting  on 
a  broomstick,  and  the  stick  broke  and  she  fell 
and  was  still  lame  from  it ;  when  her  daughter 
testified  that  she  rode  on  the  same  stick,  and 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  117 

confirmed  all  the  details  of  the  casualty; 
when  the  grandaughter  confirmed  them  also, 
and  added  that  she  rode  on  another  stick,  and 
they  all  signed  Satan's  book  together;  when 
W.  B ,  aged  forty,  testified  that  Satan  as 
sembled  a  hundred  fine  blades  near  Salem 
Meeting-house,  and  the  trumpet  sounded,  and 
bread  and  wine  were  carried  round,  and  Satan 
was  like  a  black  sheep,  and  wished  them  to 
destroy  the  minister's  house  (by  thunder  prob 
ably),  and  set  up  his  kingdom,  and  "then  all 
would  be  well ; "  when  one  woman  summoned 
her  three  children  and  some  neighbors  and  a 
sister  and  a  domestic,  who  all  testified  that  she 
was  a  witch  and  so  were  they  all,  —  what  could 
be  done  for  such  prisoners  by  judge  or  jury,  in 
an  age  which  held  witchcraft  to  be  possible  ? 
It  was  only  the  rapid  rate  of  increase  which 
finally  stopped  the  convictions. 

One  thing  is  certain,  that  this  strange  delu 
sion,  a  semi-comedy  to  us,  —  though  part  of  the 
phenomena  may  find  their  solution  in  laws  not 
yet  unfolded,  —  was  the  sternest  of  tragedies 
to  those  who  lived  in  it.  Conceive,  for  an  in 
stant,  of  believing  in  the  visible  presence  and 
labors  of  the  arch-fiend  in  a  peaceful  commu 
nity.  Yet  from  the  bottom  of  their  souls  these 
strong  men  held  to  it,  and  they  waged  a  hand- 
to-hand  fight  with  Satan  all  their  days.  Very 


Il8     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

inconveniently  the  opponent  sometimes  dealt 
his  blows,  withal.  Surely  it  could  not  be  a 
pleasant  thing  to  a  sound  divine,  just  launched 
upon  his  seventeen-headed  discourse,  to  have  a 
girl  with  wild  eyes  and  her  hair  about  her  ears 
start  up  and  exclaim,  "  Parson,  your  text  is  too 
long ; "  or,  worse  yet,  "  Parson,  your  sermon 
is  too  long ; "  or,  most  embarrassing  of  all, 
"  There 's  a  great  yellow  bird  sitting  on  the 
parson's  hat  in  the  pulpit."  But  these  formid 
able  interruptions  veritably  happened,  and  re 
ceived  the  stern  discipline  for  such  cases  made 
and  provided. 

But  beside  Quakers  and  witches,  the  minis 
ters  had  other  female  tormentors  to  deal  with. 
There  was  the  perpetual  anxiety  of  the  unregen- 
erated  toilet.  "  Immodest  apparel,  laying  out 
of  hair,  borders,  naked  necks  and  arms,  or,  as 
it  were,  pinioned  with  superfluous  ribbons,"  — 
these  were  the  things  which  tried  men's  souls 
in  those  days,  and  the  statute  books  and  private 
journals  are  full  of  such  plaintive  inventories 
of  the  implements  of  sin.  Things  known  as 
"  slash  apparel  "  seem  to  have  been  an  infinite 
source  of  anxiety  ;  there  must  be  only  one  slash 
on  each  sleeve  and  one  in  the  back.  Men  also 
must  be  prohibited  from  shoulder-bands  of  un 
due  width,  double  ruffs  and  cuffs,  and,  "im 
moderate  great  breeches."  Part  of  the  solici- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  119 

tilde  was  for  modesty,  part  for  gravity,  part  for 
economy :  none  must  dress  above  their  condi 
tion.  In  1652  three  men  and  a  woman  were 
fined  ten  shillings  each  and  costs  for  wearing 
silver-lace,  another  for  broad  bone-lace,  another 
for  tiffany,  and  another  for  a  silk  hood.  Alice 
Flynt  was  accused  of  a  silk  hood,  but,  proving 
herself  worth  more  than  two  hundred  pounds, 
escaped  unpunished.  Jonas  Fairbanks,  about 
the  same  time,  was  charged  with  "  great  boots," 
and  the  evidence  went  hard  against  him  ;  but 
he  was  fortunately  acquitted,  and  the  credit  of 
the  family  was  saved. 

The  question  of  veils  seems  to  have  rocked 
the  Massachusetts  Colony  to  its  foundations, 
and  was  fully  discussed  at  Thursday  Lecture, 
March  7,  1634.  Holy  Mr.  Cotton  was  utterly 
and  unalterably  opposed  to  veils,  regarding 
them  as  a  token  of  submission  to  husbands  in 
an  unscriptural  degree.  It  is  pleasant  to  think 
that  there  could  be  an  unscriptural  extent  of 
such  submission,  in  those  times.  But  Gov 
ernor  Endicott  and  Rev.  Mr.  Williams  resisted 
stoutly,  quoting  Paul,  as  usual  in  such  cases ; 
so  Paul,  veils,  and  vanity  carried  the  day.  But 
afterward  Mr.  Cotton  came  to  Salem  to  preach 
for  Mr.  Skelton,  and  did  not  miss  his  chance  to 
put  in  his  solemn  protest  against  veils  ;  he  said 
they  were  a  custom  not  to  be  tolerated ;  and  so 


120    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  ladies  all  came  to  meeting  without  their 
veils  in  the  afternoon. 

Beginning  with  the  veils,  the  eye  of  authority 
was  next  turned  on  what  was  under  them.  In 
1675  it  was  decided  that,  as  the  Indians  had 
done  much  harm  of  late,  and  the  Deity  was 
evidently  displeased  with  something,  the  Gen 
eral  Court  should  publish  a  list  of  the  evils  of 
the  time.  And  among  the  twelve  items  of  con 
trition  stood  this  :  "  Long  hair  like  women's 
hair  is  worn  by  some  men,  either  their  own  or 
others'  hair  made  into  periwigs  ;  and  by  some 
women  wearing  borders  of  hair,  and  their  cut 
ting,  curling,  and  immodest  laying  out  of  their 
hair,  which  practice  doth  increase,  especially 
among  the  younger  sort."  Not  much  was  ef 
fected,  however,  "divers  of  the  elders'  wives," 
as  Winthrop  lets  out,  "  being  in  some  measure 
partners  in  this  disorder."  The  use  of  wigs 
also,  at  first  denounced  by  the  clergy,  was  at 
last  countenanced  by  them :  in  portraits  later 
than  1700  they  usually  replace  the  black  skull 
cap  of  earlier  pictures,  and  in  1752  the  tables 
had  so  far  turned  that  a  church-member  in 
Newbury  refused  communion  because  "the 
pastor  wears  a  wigg."  Yet  Increase  Mather 
thought  they  played  no  small  part  in  producing 
the  Boston  Fire.  "  Monstrous  Periwigs,  such 
as  some  of  our  church-members  indulge  in, 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  121 

which  make  them  resemble  the  Locusts  that 
came  out  of  y®  Bottomless  Pit.  Rev.  ix.  7,  8, 
—  and  as  an  eminent  Divine  call  them,  Horrid 
Bushes  of  Vanity  ;  such  strange  apparel  as  is 
contrary  to  the  light  of  Nature  and  to  express 
Scripture.  I  Cor.  xi.  14,  15.  Such  pride  is 
enough  to  provoke  the  Lord  to  kindle  fires  in 
all  the  towns  in  the  country." 

Another  vexation  was  the  occasional  arrival 
of  false  prophets  in  a  community  where  every 
man  was  expected  to  have  a  current  supply  of 
religious  experiences  always  ready  for  circula 
tion.  There  was  a  certain  hypocritical  Dick 
Swayn,  for  instance,  a  seafaring  man,  who  gave 
much  trouble ;  and  E.  F.,  —  for  they  usually 
appear  by  initals,  —  who,  coming  to  New  Haven 
one  Saturday  evening,  and  being  dressed  in 
black,  was  taken  for  a  minister,  and  asked  to 
preach :  he  was  apparently  a  little  insane,  and 
at  first  talked  "  demurely,"  but  at  last  "  railed 
like  Rabshakeh,"  Cotton  Mather  says.  There 
was  also  M.  J.,  a  Welsh  tanner,  who  finally 
stole  his  employer's  leather  breeches  and  set 
up  for  a  preacher, — less  innocently  apparelled 
than  George  Fox.  But  the  worst  of  all  was 
one  bearing  the  since  sainted  name  of  Samuel 
May.  This  vessel  of  wrath  appeared  in  1699, 
indorsed  as  a  man  of  a  sweet  gospel  spirit, 
though,  indeed,  one  of  his  indorsers  had  him- 


122     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

self  been  "a  scandalous  fire-ship  among  the 
churches."  Mather  declares  that  every  one 
went  a-Maying  after  this  man,  whom  he  main 
tains  to  have  been  a  barber  previously,  and  who 
knew  no  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  nor  even  Eng 
lish,  for  (as  he  indignantly  asserts)  "  there 
were  eighteen  horrid  false  spells,  and  not  one 
point,  in  one  very  short  note  I  received  from 
him."  This  doubtful  personage  copied  his  ser 
mons  from  a  volume  by  his  namesake,  Dr. 
Samuel  Bolton,  —  "  Sam  the  Doctor  and  Sam 
the  Dunce,"  Mather  calls  them.  Finally,  "  this 
eminent  worthy  stranger,"  Sam,  who  was  no 
dunce,  after  all,  quarrelled  with  his  parish  for 
their  slow  payments,  and  "flew  out  like  a 
Dragon,  spitting  this  among  other  fire  at  them  : 
'  I  see,  no  longer  pipe,  no  longer  dance,'  —  so 
that  they  came  to  fear  he  was  a  cheat,  and 
wish  they  had  never  seen  him."  Then  "  the 
guilty  fellow,  having  bubbled  the  silly  neigh 
bors  of  an  incredible  number  of  pounds,  on  a 
sudden  was  gone,"  and  Cotton  Mather  sent  a 
letter  after  him,  which  he  declares  to  have  been 
the  worst  penalty  the  man  suffered. 

It  is  safer  to  say  little  of  the  theological 
scheme  of  the  Puritan  ministers,  lest  the  present 
writer  be  pronounced  a  Wanton  Gospeller,  and 
have  no  tithingman  to  take  his  part.  But  how 
ever  it  may  be  with  the  regular  standards  of 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  123 

theology  of  that  period,  every  one  could  find  a 
sufficient  variety  to  suit  him  among  its  here 
sies.  Eighty-two  "  pestilent  heresies "  were 
counted  as  having  already  sprung  up  in  1637 ; 
others  say  one  hundred  and  six;  others,  two 
hundred  and  ten.  The  Puritans  kept  Rhode 
Island  for  what  housekeepers  call  an  "odd 
drawer,"  into  which  to  crowd  all  these  eccen 
tricities.  It  was  said  that,  if  any  man  happened 
to  lose  his  religious  opinion,  he  might  be  sure 
to  find  it  again  at  some  village  in  Rhode  Island. 
Thither  went  Roger  Williams  and  his  Baptists  ; 
thither  went  Quakers  and  ranters ;  thither  went 
Ann  Hutchinson,  that  extraordinary  woman, 
who  divided  the  whole  politics  of  the  country 
by  her  Antinomian  doctrines,  denouncing  the 
formalisms  around  her,  and  converting  the 
strongest  men,  like  Cotton  and  Vane,  to  her 
opinions.  Thither  went  also  Samuel  Gorton,  a 
man  of  no  ordinary  power,  who  proclaimed  a 
mystical  union  with  God  in  love,  thought  that 
heaven  and  hell  were  in  the  mind  alone,  but 
esteemed  little  the  clergy  and  the  ordinances. 
The  Colony  was  protected  also  by  the  thought 
ful  and  chivalrous  Vane,  who  held  that  water 
baptism  had  had  its  day,  and  that  the  Jewish 
Sabbath  should  give  place  to  the  modern  Sun 
day.  All  these,  and  such  as  these,  were  called 
generally  "Seekers"  by  the  Puritans,  —  who 


124    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

claimed  for  themselves  that  they  had  found  that 
which  they  sought.  It  is  the  old  distinction; 
but  for  which  destiny  is  the  ship  built,  to  be 
afloat  or  to  be  at  anchor  ? 

Such  were  those  pious  worthies,  the  men 
whose  names  are  identified  with  the  leader 
ship  of  the  New  England  Colonies,  —  Cotton, 
Hooker,  Norton,  Shepard,  the  Higginsons,  the 
Mathers.  To  these  might  be  added  many  an 
obscurer  name,  preserved  in  the  quaint  epitaphs 
of  the  "Magnalia,"  —  Blackman,  "in  spite  of 
his  name,  a  Nazarene  whiter  than  snow ; " 
Partridge,  "a  hunted  partridge,"  yet  both  a 
dove  and  an  eagle ; "  Ezekiel  Rogers,  "  a  tree 
of  knowledge,  whose  apples  the  very  children 
might  pluck;"  Nathaniel  Rogers,  "a  very 
lively  preacher  and  a  very  preaching  liver,  he 
loved  his  church  as  if  it  had  been  his  family 
and  he  taught  his  family  as  if  it  had  been  his 
church ; "  Warham,  the  first  who  preached 
with  notes,  and  who  suffered  agonies  of  doubt 
respecting  the  Lord's  Supper;  Stone,  "both 
a  loadstone  and  a  flint  stone,"  and  who  set  the 
self-sacrificing  example  of  preaching  only  one 
hour. 

These  men  had  mingled  traits  of  good  and 
evil,  like  all  mankind,  —  nobler  than  their  de 
scendants  in  some  attributes,  less  noble  in  oth- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  125 

ers.  The  most  strait-laced  Massachusetts  Cal- 
vinist  of  these  days  would  have  been  disciplined 
by  them  for  insufferable  laxity,  and  yet  their 
modern  successor  would  count  it  utter  shame, 
perhaps,  to  own  a  slave  in  his  family  or  to  drink 
rum-punch  at  an  ordination, — which  Puritan 
divines  might  do  without  rebuke.  Not  one  of 
them  has  left  on  record  a  statement  so  broad 
and  noble  as  that  of  Roger  Williams  :  "  To  be 
content  with  food  and  raiment,  —  to  mind  not 
our  own,  but  every  man  the  things  of  another, 
—  yea,  and  to  suffer  wrong,  and  to  part  with 
what  we  judge  to  be  right,  yea,  our  own  lives, 
and,  as  poor  women  martyrs  have  said,  as  many 
as  there  be  hairs  upon  our  heads,  for  the  name 
of  God  and  for  the  Son  of  God's  sake,  —  this 
is  humanity,  this  is  Christianity  ;  the  rest  is  but 
formality  and  picture-courteous  idolatry,  and 
Jewish  and  Popish  blasphemy  against  the  Chris 
tian  religion."  And  yet  the  mind  of  Roger 
Williams  was  impulsive,  erratic,  and  unstable, 
compared  with  theirs  ;  and  in  what  respect  has 
the  work  they  left  behind  them  proved,  after 
the  testing  of  two  centuries,  less  solid  or  durable 
than  his  ? 

These  men  were  stern  even  to  cruelty  against 
all  that  they  held  evil,  —  Satan  and  his  sup 
posed  emissaries,  witches,  Quakers,  Indians, 
negligent  parishioners,  disobedient  offspring, 


126     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

men  with  periwigs,  and  women  in  slash  apparel. 
Yet  the  tenderest  private  gentleness  often  lay 
behind  this  gloomy  rigor  of  the  conscience. 
Some  of  them  would  never  chastise  a  son  or 
daughter,  in  spite  of  Solomon ;  others  would 
write  in  Greek  characters  in  their  old  almanacs 
quaint  little  English  verses  on  the  death  of 
some  beloved  child.  That  identical  "Priest 
Wilson,"  who  made  the  ballad  at  Mary  Dyer's 
execution,  attended  a  military  muster  one  day. 
"  Sir,"  said  some  one,  "  I  '11  tell  you  a  great 
thing :  here 's  a  mighty  body  of  people,  and 
there  's  not  seven  of  them  all  but  loves  Mr. 
Wilson."  "Sir,"  it  was  replied,  "I  '11  tell  you 
as  good  a  thing  :  here 's  a  mighty  body  of  peo 
ple,  and  there  's  not  one  of  them  all  but  Mr. 
Wilson  loves  him."  Mr.  Cotton  was  a  terror 
to  evil-doers,  yet,  when  a  company  of  men  came 
along  from  a  tavern  and  said,  "  Let  us  put  a 
trick  upon  old  Cotton,"  and  one  of  them  came 
and  cried  in  his  ear,  "  Cotton,  thou  art  an  old 
fool,"  —  "I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  retorted  cheer 
ily  the  venerable  man,  and  pungently  added, 
"  The  Lord  make  both  me  and  thee  wiser ! " 
Mr.  Hooker  was  once  reproving  a  boy  in  the 
street,  who  boldly  replied,  "  I  see  you  are  in  a 
passion  ;  I  will  not  answer  you,"  and  so  ran 
away.  It  contradicts  all  one's  notions  of  Puri 
tan  propriety,  and  yet  it  seems  that  the  good 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  127 

man,  finding  afterwards  that  the  boy  was  not 
really  guilty,  sent  for  him  to  apologize,  and 
owned  himself  to  have  been  wrong. 

What  need  to  speak  of  the  strength  and 
courage,  the  disinterestedness  and  zeal,  with 
which  they  bore  up  the  fortunes  of  the  Colony 
on  their  shoulders,  and  put  that  iron  into  the 
New  England  blood  which  has  since  supplied 
the  tonic  for  a  continent  ?  It  was  said  of  Mr. 
Hooker  that  he  was  "  a  person  who,  while  doing 
his  Master's  work,  would  put  a  king  in  his 
pocket ; "  and  it  was  thus  with  them  all :  they 
would  pocket  anything  but  a  bribe  to  them 
selves  or  an  insult  to  God  or  their  profession. 
They  flinched  from  no  reproof  that  was  needed  : 
"  Sharp  rebukes  make  sound  Christians,"  was 
a  proverb  among  them.  They  sometimes  lost 
their  tempers,  and  sometimes  their  parishes, 
but  never  their  independence.  I  find  a  hun 
dred  anecdotes  of  conscientious  cruelty  laid  up 
against  them,  but  not  one  of  cowardice  or  of 
compromise.  They  may  have  bored  the  tongues 
of  others  with  a  bar  of  iron,  but  they  never  fet 
tered  their  own  tongues  with  a  bar  of  gold,  as 
some  African  tribes  think  it  a  saintly  thing  to 
do,  and  not  African  tribes  alone. 

There  was  such  an  absolute  righteousness 
among  them,  that  to  this  day  every  man  of  New 
England  descent  lives  partly  on  the  fund  of  vir- 


128     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

tuous  habit  they  accumulated.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  every  man  of  the  many  who  still 
stand  ready  to  indorse  everything  signed  by  a 

D.  D.  —  without  even  adding  the  commercial 

E.  E.,  for  Errors  Excepted  —  is  in  part  the  vic 
tim  of  the  over-influence  they  obtained.     Yet 
there  was  a  kind  of  democracy  in  that  vast  in 
fluence  also :  the  Puritans  were  far  more  thor 
ough  Congregationalists  than  their  successors  ; 
they  recognized  no  separate  clerical  class,  and 
the  "elder"  was   only  the  highest  officer  of 
his  own  church.     Each  religious  society  could 
choose  and  ordain  its  own  minister,  or  dispense 
with  all  ordaining  services  at  will,  without  the 
slightest  aid  or  hindrance  from  council  or  con 
sociation.     So  the  stern  theology  of  the  pulpit 
only  reflected  the  stern  theology  of  the  pews ; 
the  minister  was  but  the  representative  man. 
If  the  ministers  were  recognized  as  spiritual 
guides,  it  was  because  they  were  such  to  the 
men  of  their  time,  whatever  they  might  be  to 
ours.     Demonax  of  old,  when  asked  about  the 
priests'  money,  said  that  if  they  were  really  the 
leaders  of  the  people,  they  could  not  have  too 
much  payment,  —  or  too  little,  if  it  were  other 
wise.     I  believe  that  on  these   conditions  the 
Puritan  ministers  well  earned  their  hundred  and 
sixty  pounds  a  year,  —  with  a  discount  of  forty 
pounds,  if  paid  in  wampum-beads  and  musket- 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER  129 

balls.  What  they  took  in  musket-balls  they 
paid  back  in  the  heavier  ammunition  of  moral 
truth.  Here  is  a  specimen  of  their  grape- 
shot  :  — 

"  My  fathers  and  brethren,"  said  John  Hig- 
ginson  (whom  the  laborious  Dr.  Griswold  con 
siders  to  have  been  "incomparably  the  best 
writer,  native  or  foreign,  who  lived  in  New  Eng 
land  during  the  first  hundred  years  of  her  colo 
nization"),  "this  is  never  to  be  forgotten,  that 
our  New  England  is  originally  a  plantation  of 
religion,  and  not  a  plantation  of  trade.  Let 
merchants  and  such  as  are  making  cent,  per 
cent,  remember  this.  Let  others  .  who  have 
come  over  since  at  sundry  times  remember  this, 
that  worldly  gain  was  not  the  end  and  design 
of  the  people  of  New  England,  but  religion. 
And  if  any  man  among  us  make  religion  as 
twelve  and  the  world  as  thirteen,  let  such  a  man 
know  he  hath  neither  the  spirit  of  a  true  New 
England  man,  nor  yet. of  a  sincere  Christian." 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES 

"  That  heroic  virtue 
For  which  antiquity  hath  left  no  names 
But  patterns  only,  such  as  Hercules, 
Achilles,  Theseus." 

CAREW. 

THE  Greek  goddesses,  like  all  other  mytho- 
logic  figures,  have  been  very  fully  discussed,  in 
all  their  less  interesting  aspects.  Their  gene 
alogies  have  been  ransacked,  as  if  they  had  lived 
in  Boston  or  Philadelphia.  Their  symbolic  re 
lations  to  the  elements  and  to  the  zodiac  and  to 
all  the  physical  phenomena  have  been  explored, 
as  if  there  were  to  be  an  almanac  made  by  their 
means.  You  will  find  in  Max  Muller  the  latest 
versions  of  the  ethical,  the  allegorical,  and  the 
historic  interpretations.  Yet  all  these  unhap 
pily  omit  the  one  element  that  gives  to  those 
fabled  beings  their  human  interest,  inasmuch  as 
the  personality  is  left  out.  It  may  be  that  the 
mythologists  think  the  view  beneath  them  ;  but 
it  is  hard  to  find  in  any  language  an  essay  which 
lays  all  these  abstruser  things  aside,  and  treats 
the  deities  in  their  simplest  aspect,  as  so  many 
Ideals  6f  Womanhood. 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  131 

We  must  charitably  remember  that  the  Greek 
goddesses  are  rather  new  acquaintances,  in  their 
own  proper  personalities.  Till  within  thirty 
years  their  very  names  had  been  merged  for  us 
in  the  Latin  substitutes,  as  effectually  as  if  each 
had  married  into  a  Roman  family.  It  is  only 
since  the  publication  of  Thirlwall's  "  Greece,"  in 
1 83  5,  that  they  have  generally  appeared  in  Eng 
lish  books  under  their  own  proper  titles.  With 
the  Latin  names  came  a  host  of  later  traditions, 
mostly  foreign  to  the  Greek  mind,  generally 
tending  toward  the  trivial  and  the  prosaic. 
Shakespeare  in  French  does  not  more  instantly 
cease  to  be  Shakespeare,  than  the  great  ideals 
vacate  their  shrines  when  Latinized.  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  in  the  hands  of  Voltaire,  suffers  hardly 
more  defamation  of  character  than  the  Greek 
goddesses  under  the  treatment  of  Lempriere. 

Now  that  this  defilement  is  being  cleared 
away,  we  begin  to  see  how  much  of  the  stateli- 
ness  of  polytheism  lay  in  its  ideal  women. 
Monotheism  is  inevitable ;  there  never  was  a 
polytheism  in  the  world,  but  so  soon  as  it  pro 
duced  a  thinker  it  became  a  monotheism  after 
all.  Then  it  instantly  became  necessary  to  say 
He  or  She  in  speaking  of  the  Highest ;  and  the 
immediate  result  was  a  masculine  Deity,  and 
the  dethronement  of  woman.  Whatever  the 
advantage  gained,  this  imperfection  of  language 


132    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

brought  serious  evils,  since  it  is  in  our  concep 
tions  of  Deity  that  we  represent  what  humanity 
should  be. 

Look  at  the  comparison  from  the  point  of 
view  of  woman.  Suppose  we  were  to  hear  of 
two  races,  in  one  of  which  all  the  recognized 
gods  were  men,  and  all  womanhood  was  rigidly 
excluded  from  the  divine  impersonation,  and 
assigned  to  mortal  and  humble  existence ;  while 
in  the  other,  every  type  of  God  had  an  answer 
ing  goddess,  every  heavenly  throne  held  two, 
every  grace  or  glory  was  as  sublimely  incarnated 
in  the  one  as  in  the  other.  Whatever  else  we 
should  say  of  the  comparison,  we  should  say 
that  the  ideal  woman  was  best  recognized  by 
the  nation  which  still  kept  her  on  her  throne. 
But  among  these  woman-worshipping  nations 
the  Greeks  stood  preeminent,  as  distinct  from 
the  monotheistic  nations  of  the  world.  So  ob 
vious  is  the  difference,  it  has  been  thought  that 
Solomon  and  the  kings  of  Israel,  in  associating 
the  worship  of  Astarte  with  that  of  Jehovah, 
had  a  confused  desire  to  correct  this  exclusive 
character.  The  Virgin  Mother  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  is  a  more  obvious  yearning  of 
the  same  instinct. 

For  one,  I  can  truly  testify  that  my  first  sub 
lime  visions  of  an  ideal  womanhood  came  di 
rectly  from  the  Greek  tradition,  as  embodied  in 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  133 

the  few  casts  of  antique  sculpture  in  the  Bos 
ton  Athenaeum.  They  seemed  to  reproduce  for 
me  the  birth  of  Athena ;  they  struck  upon  the 
brain  as  with  a  blow,  and  a  goddess  sprang 
forth.  Life  will  always  be  the  nobler  for  those 
early  impressions.  There  were  the  gods,  too, 
in  their  grandeur  ;  the  Zeus  had  his  more  than 
lion-like  majesty,  but  it  was  especially  the  Hera 
and  Athena  that  suggested  grander  spheres. 
It  was  as  if  I  had  ascended  Mount  Olympus 
and  said,  "  This,  then,  is  a  man ;  that  is  a  wo 
man  !  " 

Afterwards,  I  lived  for  some  years  in  the 
house  which  held  Retzsch's  copy  of  the  Sistine 
Madonna,  said  to  be  the  best  copy  in  existence ; 
I  drank  it  in  as  a  boy  receives  the  glory  of  the 
first  great  picture  he  has  seen.  Is  there  in  the 
universe  anything  sublimer  than  that  child's 
face  ?  But  the  mother's  calm  beauty  still  seems 
humble  and  secular  beside  those  Greek  divini 
ties.  Art  makes  in  them  the  grander  though 
not  the  tenderer  revelation.  It  is  for  this  gran 
deur,  as  I  maintain,  — this,  which  can  never  be 
human  nature's  daily  food,  —  that  we  need  to 
turn  to  art.  That  child  is  unhappy  whose  mo 
ther's  face,  as  it  bends  above  him,  wears  not  a 
living  tenderness  which  Raphael  could  merely 
reproduce.  But  the  resources  of  divine  exalta 
tion  which  form  the  just  heritage  of  that  mo- 


134    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ther's  soul,  the  child  knows  not  till  he  sees 
them  embodied  in  Greek  sculpture. 

Other  races  have  made  woman  beautiful ;  it 
was  the  peculiar  glory  of  the  Greeks  that  they 
made  her  sublime.  As  Emerson  says  that  this 
wondrous  nation  anticipated  by  their  language 
what  the  orator  would  say,  so  their  sculpture 
anticipated  what  the  priest  would  dream.  Quin- 
tilian  says  of  Phidias's  lost  statue  of  Athena, 
that  "  its  beauty  seems  to  have  added  reverence 
even  to  religion  itself,  so  nigh  does  the  majesty 
of  the  work  approach  to  that  of  the  divinity." 

I  speak  now  of  the  ideal  alone.  Undoubtedly, 
in  ancient  Greece,  as  in  most  modern  commu 
nities,  the  actual  woman  was  disfranchised  and 
humiliated.  But  nations,  like  men,  have  a  right 
to  appeal  from  their  degradation  to  their  dreams. 
It  is  something  if  they  are  sublime  in  these. 
Tried  by  such  a  standard,  the  Greeks  placed 
woman  at  the  highest  point  she  has  ever  reached, 
and  if  we  wish  for  a  gallery  of  feminine  ideals, 
we  must  turn  to  them.  We  must  not  seek 
these  high  visions  among  the  indecencies  of 
Ovid,  or  among  the  pearl-strewn  vulgarities 
of  Aristophanes,  any  more  than  we  seek  the 
feminine  ideal  of  to-day  in  the  more  chastened 
satire  of  the  "  Saturday  Review."  We  must 
seek  them  in  the  remains  of  Greek  sculpture, 
in  Hesiod  and  Homer,  in  the  Greek  tragedians, 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  135 

in  the  hymns  of  Orpheus,  Callimachus,  and 
Proclus,  and  in  the  Anthology. 

We  are  apt  to  regard  the  Greek  myths  as 
only  a  chaos  of  confused  fancies.  Yet  it  often 
takes  very  little  pains  to  disentangle  them,  at 
least  sufficiently  to  seize  their  main  thread.  If 
we  confine  ourselves  to  the  six  primary  god 
desses,  it  needs  little  straining  of  the  imagina 
tion  to  see  what  they  represented  to  the  Greek 
mind.  In  their  simplest  aspect  they  are  but 
so  many  types  of  ideal  womanhood  taken  at 
successive  epochs.  Woman's  whole  earthly 
career  may  be  considered  as  depicted,  when  we 
portray  the  girl,  the  maiden,  the  lover,  the  wife, 
the  mother,  and  the  housekeeper  or  queen  of 
home.  These,  accordingly,  are  represented  — 
to  give  both  the  Greek  and  the  more  familiar 
but  more  deceptive  Latin  names  —  by  Artemis 
or  Diana,  Athena  or  Minerva,  Aphrodite  or 
Venus,  Hera  or  Juno,  Demeter  or  Ceres,  and 
Hestia  or  Vesta. 

First  comes  the  epoch  of  free  girlhood,  sym 
bolized  by  ARTEMIS,  the  Roman  Diana.  Her 
very  name  signifies  health  and  vigor.  She  repre 
sents  early  youth,  and  all  young  things  find  in 
her  their  protector.  She  goes  among  the  habi 
tations  of  men  only  that  she  may  take  newborn 
infants  in  her  arms  ;  and  the  young  of  all  wild 
creatures  must  be  spared  in  her  honor,  religion 


136    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

taking  the  place  of  game-laws.  Thus  she  be 
comes  the  goddess  of  hunters,  and  learns  of  her 
brother  Phoebus  to  be  a  huntress  herself.  To 
her  outdoor  things  are  consecrated,  —  dogs, 
deer,  fishes,  fountains,  fir-trees,  and  the  laurel. 
She  is  free,  vigorous,  restless,  cold,  impetuous, 
unsympathetic,  beautiful.  Her  range  of  attri 
butes  is  not  great  nor  varied,  but  her  type  of 
character  is  perfectly  marked,  and  we  all  know 
it.  She  stands  for  the  nymph-like  period  of 
existence.  She  is  still  among  us  in  the  person 
of  every  girl  of  fourteen  who  wears  a  short 
dress,  and  is  fond  of  pets,  and  delights  in  roam 
ing  the  woods  with  her  brother.  Let  maturer 
womanhood  be  meditative  or  passionate  or 
proud,  let  others  be  absorbed  in  husband  or 
home,  she  goes  on  her  free  way,  impatient  of 
interference,  prompt  to  resent  intrusion.  Arte 
mis  has  the  cold  and  rather  crude  beauty  of 
this  early  girlhood  ;  her  slender  form  and  deli 
cate  limbs  distinguish  her  statues  from  all  others, 
so  that  even  when  mutilated  they  are  known  at 
once. 

But  it  is  a  brief  and  simple  epoch  that  Arte 
mis  represents.  After  early  girlhood  comes  the 
maturity  of  virgin  womanhood,  touched  by  med 
itation,  not  yet  by  passion.  This  the  Greek 
mythology  symbolizes  in  PALLAS  ATHENA.  She 
is  the  riper  Artemis,  passing  beyond  her  early 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  137 

nymph-like  years,  and  reaching  the  highest  con 
summation  that  woman  can  attain  alone.  So 
fascinating  is  this  moment  of  serene  self-poise, 
that  the  virgin  Athena  ranks  in  some  respects 
at  the  head  of  all  the  goddesses.  Beside  her, 
Artemis  is  undeveloped,  while  all  the  rest  have 
passed  in  a  manner  out  of  themselves,  have 
shared  the  being  of  others  and  the  responsi 
bilities  of  love  or  home.  Of  all  conceptions 
of  woman  ever  framed,  Athena  most  combines 
strength  and  loveliness.  She  has  no  feeble 
aspect,  no  relation  of  dependence ;  her  purity 
is  the  height  of  power.  No  compliment  ever 
paid  to  woman  was  so  high  as  that  paid  by 
the  Greeks,  when  incarnating  the  highest  wis 
dom  in  this  maiden's  form,  and  making  this 
attribute  only  increase  her  virtue  and  her 
charms. 

Hence  at  Athens  —  "  the  Greece  of  Greece,"  l 
as  the  one  epigram  of  Thucydides  calls  it  —  she 
is  reverenced  above  all  deities,  chief  guardian 
of  the  most  wondrous  community  of  the  world. 
Above  the  most  magnificent  gallery  of  art 
which  the  world  has  ever  seen,  because  com 
prising  a  whole  city,  her  colossal  image  stands 
preeminent,  carved  by  Phidias  in  ivory  and 
gold.  The  approaching  sailor's  first  glimpse  of 
Athens  is  the  gleaming  of  the  sun's  rays  from 

1  'EAAuSoj  'EAAets.     Brunck's  Analecta,  ii.  236. 


138     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

her  spear  and  shield.  This  is  because  her  sa 
cred  olive-plant  sprang  from  the  earth  when  the 
first  stone  of  the  infant  settlement  was  laid,  and 
now  the  city  and  its  name  and  its  glory  must' 
be  hers. 

And  such  renown  is  indeed  her  birthright. 
Born  without  a  mother,  directly  from  the  brain 
of  Zeus,  —  to  bring  her  as  near  as  possible  to 
the  creative  intellect,  —  she  inherits,  beyond 
all  others,  that  attribute.  She  retains  the  priv 
ilege  of  that  sublime  cradle,  and,  whenever  she 
bows  her  head,  it  is  as  if  Zeus  had  nodded,  — 
a  privilege  which  he  has  given  to  her  alone. 
That  is  ratified  to.  which  Pallas  hath  bowed 
assent,  says  Callimachus.1  Yet  while  thus 
falling  but  one  degree  below  omnipotence,  she 
possesses  a  beauty  which  is  beyond  that  of 
Aphrodite.  If  the  cowherd  Alexander  (Paris) 
judges  otherwise,  it  is  merely  the  taste  of  a 
cowherd,  as  the  epigram  of  Hermodorus  fear 
lessly  declares. 

The  busts  of  Athena  seem  always  grave  and 
sweet  ;  never  domineering,  like  those  of  Arte 
mis,  nor  languishing,  like  those  of  Aphrodite. 
They  are  known  from  all  others  by  the  length 
of  the  hair,  whence  the  Greek  oath,  "by  the 
tresses  of  Athena."  In  the  descriptions,  she 


1  Tb  f  irrf\ls  $  K'  brivfAfffi  IlaAAdy.     Callim.,   Hymn  V. 
31.  132- 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  139 

alone  is  blue-eyed,  to  show  that  she  dwells 
above  all  clouds,  while  even  the  auburn-haired 
Aphrodite,  in  the  Iliad,  has  large  black  eyes. 
She  is  more  heavily  armed  than  the  fleet-footed 
Artemis,  and  sometimes,  for  added  protection, 
there  are  serpents  clinging  to  her  robe,  while  a 
dragon  watches  at  her  feet.  This  is  the  Greek 
Athena,  transformed  in  Rome  to  a  prosaic 
Minerva,  infinitely  useful  and  practical,  teach 
ing  the  mechanic  arts,  and  the  unwearied  pa 
troness  of  schoolmasters. 

But  Athena's  maiden  meditation  is  simply 
one  stage  in  a  woman's  life,  not  its  completion. 
It  is  the  intellectual  blossoming  of  existence, 
for  man  or  woman,  this  earlier  epoch,  "un- 
vowed  as  yet  to  family  or  state."  But  a  career 
that  seeks  completeness  pauses  not  here.  When 
love  touches  and  transforms  the  destiny,  what 
then  ? 

Then  comes  the  reign  of  APHRODITE,  the 
beautiful,  the  wronged.  Wronged,  because 
human  coarseness  cannot  keep  up  to  the  con 
ceptions  of  the  celestial  Venus,  but  degrades 
her  into  a  French  lorette,  and  fills  story  books 
with  her  levities.  How  unlike  this  are  the 
conceptions  of  Plato,  whose  philosophy  has 
been  called  "  a  mediation  of  love."  Love,  ac 
cording  to  him,  first  taught  the  arts  to  mankind, 
—  arts  of  existence,  arts  of  wisdom.  Love 


140    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

inspires  self-sacrifice ;  he  who  loves  will  die  for 
another. 

"  Love,"  he  says,  in  his  Banquet,1  is  peace 
and  good -will  among  men,  calm  upon  the 
waters,  repose  and  stillness  in  the  storm,  the 
balm  of  sleep  in  sadness.  Before  love  all 
harsh  passions  flee  away.  Love  is  author  of 
soft  affections,  destroyer  of  ungentle  thoughts, 
merciful,  and  mild,  the  admiration  of  the  wise, 
the  delight  of  the  gods.  Love  divests  us  of 
all  alienation  from  each  other,  and  fills  our  va 
cant  hearts  with  overflowing  sympathy.  Love 
is  the  valued  treasure  of  the  fortunate  and 
desired  by  the  unhappy  (therefore  unhappy 
because  they  possess  not  love) ;  the  parent  of 
grace,  of  gentleness,  of  delicacy ;  a  cherisher 
of  all  that  is  good,  but  guileless  as  to  evil ;  in 
labor  and  in  fear,  in  longings  of  the  affection  or 
in  soarings  of  the  reason,  our  best  pilot,  confed 
erate,  supporter,  and  savior ;  ornament  and  gov 
ernor  of  all  things  human  and  divine ;  the  best, 
the  loveliest,  whom  every  one  should  follow 
with  songs  of  exultation,  uniting  in  the  divine 
harmony  with  which  love  forever  soothes  the 
mind  of  men  and  gods." 

Now  love  is  Aphrodite,  either  represented  by 
the  goddess  herself  or  by  her  son  and  vicege 
rent,  who  seems  almost  identified  with  herself 

1  Mackay's  translation. 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  141 

"  N'e"tait  autre  que  la  de"esse  elle-m£me,  dou6e 
du  sexe  masculin,"  as  fime"ric-David  well  states 
it.  "  Love,"  says  Empedocles,  in  that  great 
philosophical  poem  of  which  fragments  only  re 
main,  "  is  not  discoverable  by  the  eye,  but  only 
by  intellect ;  its  elements  are  indeed  innate  in 
our  mortal  constitution,  and  we  give  it  the 
names  of  Joy  and  Aphrodite ;  but  in  its  highest 
universality  no  mortal  hath  fully  comprehended 
it." 

Aphrodite  is  the  daughter  of  Zeus  and  Har- 
monia,  according  to  some  legends ;  while,  ac 
cording  to  others,  Harmonia  is  her  daughter 
by  Ares,  and  the  mother  of  Aphrodite  is  the 
child  of  Heaven  and  Earth.  She  is  usually 
seen  naked,  unlike  every  other  goddess  save 
Artemis.  Yet  Praxiteles  represented  her  veiled 
at  Cos  ;  others  armed  her  as  Venus  Victrix ; 
Phidias  carved  her  in  ivory  and  gold,  her  feet 
resting  on  a  tortoise,  as  if  to  imply  deliberation, 
not  heedlessness.  The  conscious  look  of  the 
Venus  de'  Medici  implies  modesty,  since  she  is 
supposed  to  be  standing  before  Paris  with 
Hera  and  Athena.  In  Homer's  hymn  to  Aph 
rodite  she  is  described  as  ordinarily  cold  and 
unimpressible,  and  only  guiding  others  to  love, 
till  Zeus,  by  his  sovereign  interference,  makes 
her  mind  to  wander  and  she  loves  a  mortal  man. 
And  though  she  regards  Anchises  simply  as 


142    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

her  husband,  and  calls  herself  his  wedded  wife, 
yet  she  is  saddened  by  the  thought  of  her  fall, 
as  much  as  Artemis  when  she  loves  Endymion. 
This  is  Homer  when  serious  ;  but  the  story  of 
her  intrigue  with  Ares  he  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  a  wandering  minstrel  in  the  Odyssey,  as  a 
relief  from  graver  song,  and  half  disavows  it, 
as  if  knowing  its  irreverence. 

The  true  Aphrodite  is  to  be  sought  in  the 
hymns  of  Homer,  Orpheus,  and  Proclus.  The 
last  invokes  her  as  yet  a  virgin.1  It  is  essential 
to  her  very  power  that  she  should  have  the 
provocation  of  modesty.  She  represents  that 
passion  which  is  the  basis  of  purity,  for  the 
author  of  "  Ecce  Homo"  admirably  says  that 
"No  heart  is  pure  which  is  not  passionate." 
Accordingly,  married  love  is  as  sacred  to  Aph 
rodite  as  the  virgin  condition  ;  2  if  she  misleads, 
it  is  through  sincere  passion,  not  frivolity.  No 
cruelty  comes  where  she  dwells  ;  no  animal 
sacrifices  are  offered  her,  but  only  wreaths  of 
flowers  ;  and  the  month  of  April,  when  the 
earth  stirs  again  into  life,  is  her  sacred  time. 

But  love  legitimately  reaches  its  fulfilment 
in  marriage.  After  Aphrodite  comes  HERA 
(the  Roman  Juno),  who,  in  the  oldest  mytho- 


Sa  Kovpa(f>poStri}v.     Proclus,  Hymn  III.  I. 
2  'A4>po5iT7j    ydfiov  ir\oKais   JjSerot     Tatian,    Orat.   contra 
Grtecos,  c.  8. 


THE  GREEK- GODDESSES  143 

logy,  is  simply  the  wife  of .  Zeus  (or  Jupiter), 
and  the  type  and  protector  of  marriage.  Her 
espousals  are  represented  at  the  festivals  as  the 
Sacred  Marriage.1  She  must  be  the  twin  sister 
of  Zeus,  as  well  as  his  wife,  that  there  may 
be  a  more  perfect  equality,  and  their  union  for 
the  same  reason  must  be  from  birth,  and,  were 
it  possible,  before  birth.  She  is  the  only  god 
dess  who  is  legitimately  and  truly  married,  for 
Aphrodite  is  but  the  unwilling  wife  of  Hephais- 
tos,  and  bears  him  no  children.  Hence  Hera 
wears  a  diadem  and  a  bridal  veil;  her  beauty 
is  of  a  commanding  type,  through  the  large 
eyes  and  the  imperious  smile,  as  in  the  "  Ludo- 
visi  Juno."  Winckelmann  says  it  is  impossible 
to  mistake  a  head  of  Hera.  Athena  commands 
like  a  princess  ;  Hera,  like  a  queen.  Her  name 
is  connected  with  the  JEolic  ?ppos,  which  signi 
fies  mastery,  and  it  is  identical  with  the  Roman 
hera,  or  mistress. 

But  with  all  this  effort  to  make  her  equal  in 
rank  to  her  husband,  it  is  still  the  equality  of  a 
queen,  superior  to  all  except  her  spouse,  yet 
yielding  to  him.  The  highest  gods  reverence 
Hera,  but  she  reveres  Zeus.  His  domestic 
relations,  therefore,  are  a  despotism  tempered 
by  scolding.  The  divine  husband,  having  the 
essential  power,  is  the  more  amiable  of  the 

1  'lepos  ydfj.05. 


144    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

wedded  pair.  Zeus,  in  Homer,  cannot  compre 
hend  why  his  wife  should  so  hate  the  Trojans, 
but  he  lets  her  have  her  way  against  his  own 
preference.  If  he  consults  others  without  her 
knowledge,  she  censures  him.  When  he  avows 
his  purpose  in  the  very  council  of  the  gods,  she 
reviles  him,  and  says,  "  Do  so,  but  we  the  other 
gods  do  not  approve  ; "  and  he  says  to  her, 
presently,  "  Do  as  thou  wilt,  lest  this  conten 
tion  be  in  future  a  great  strife  between  thee 
and  me."  It  seems  a  doubtful  state  of  disci 
pline.  But  if  we  will  deify  marriage,  we  must 
take  the  consequences. 

Still,  there  is  a  prevailing  grandeur  and  dig 
nity  in  their  relation.  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli, 
whose  writings  show  a  fine  instinct  for  the  Greek 
symbolism,  points  out  that  on  antique  gems  and 
bas-reliefs,  in  the  meetings  between  god  and 
goddess,  "  they  rather  offer  to  one  another  the 
full  flower  of  being  than  grow  together.  As  in 
the  figures  before  me,  Jupiter,  king  of  gods  and 
men,  meets  Juno,  the  sister  and  queen,  not  as  a 
chivalric  suppliant,  but  as  a  stately  claimant, 
and  she,  crowned,  pure,  majestic,  holds  the  veil 
aside  to  reveal  herself  to  her  august  spouse." 

Accordingly,  when  Zeus  embraces  Hera  on 
Mount  Ida,  clothed  in  fascinations  like  those 
of  Aphrodite,  all  nature  is  hushed,  in  Homer's 
description ;  the  contending  armies  are  still ; 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  145 

before  this  sublime  union,  these  tokens  of  rev 
erence  are  fitting.  The  union  of  husband  and 
wife  —  a  thing  of  levity  or  coarseness  on  com 
mon  lips  —  is  transferred  by  Homer  to  a  scene 
where  all  the  solemnities  of  earth  and  air  be 
come  but  tributary  to  the  divine  meeting.  And 
thus  the  symbols  of  the  Holy  Marriage  inter 
weave  themselves  with  the  associations  and 
practices  of  the  nation,  and  secure  a  religious 
dignity  for  the  institution  in  the  Greek  mind. 

But  woman's  career  is  incomplete  even  as  a 
wife  ;  she  must  also  be  a  mother. 

Then  comes  before  us  the  great  mystical  and 
maternal  deity  of  Greece,  DEMETER  of  the 
Eleusinian  mysteries,  the  Roman  Ceres.  Her 
very  name  signifies  "  mother,"  probably  -fy  pffnip* 
Mother  Earth.  Euripides  says,  in  his  Bac 
chanals,  that  the  Greeks  honor  chiefly  two 
deities,  —  one  being  Demeter  (who  is  the  Earth, 
he  says,  if  you  prefer  to  call  her  so),  and  the 
other  the  son  of  Semele.  Demeter  is,  like 
Hera,  both  sister  and  in  a  manner  wife  of  Zeus, 
to  bring  her  into  equality  with  him.  Yet  she 
is  a  virgin,  even  when  she  bears  a  child,  Per 
sephone  or  Proserpine.  In  a  sense  this  maiden 
is  the  child  of  Zeus,  but  not  in  a  mortal  man 
ner,  —  by  an  ineffable  conception,1  says  the 
Orphic  Hymn. 

OKTI  yoiftus.     Hymn  XXIX.  7. 


146    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

All  Demeter's  existence  is  concentrated  on 
this  motherhood.  She  feeds  the  human  race, 
but  when  she  is  deprived  of  her  daughter  she 
stops  the  course  of  the  seasons  for  one  year, 
till  the  beloved  be  restored.  Nor  is  there  for 
a  time  any  change  even  after  her  daughter's 
return,  until  Zeus  sends  Demeter's  own  mother 
to  persuade  her,  thus  controlling  the  might  of 
motherhood  by  motherhood  alone.  She  thus 
goes  through  suffering  to  glory,  and  Grote  well 
names  her  the  Mater  Dolorosa  of  Greece. 

As  this  reverence  of  Demeter  for  her  own 
mother  carries  the  sacredness  of  maternity  a 
generation  further  back,  so  it  is  carried  a  gen 
eration  further  forward  by  the  refusal  of  Per 
sephone  to  return  permanently  to  the  upper 
world.  Having  eaten  pomegranate  seeds,  the 
legend  says,  she  will  go  back  to  her  husband. 
But  the  pomegranate  is  the  symbol  of  the  feli 
cities  of  marriage,  and  its  promise  of  offspring. 
Thus  on  every  side  it  is  maternity  which  is  can 
onized  in  the  myth  of  Demeter,  and  the  concen 
tration  on  this  of  every  quality  of  her  nature 
makes  her  stand  the  immortal  representative  of 
woman  as  mother.  This  is  the  central  symbol 
of  the  Eleusinian  mysteries,  ranking  first  among 
the  religious  ceremonials  of  Greece.  The 
Mother  and  Daughter,  on  Athenian  lips,  mean 
always  Demeter  and  Persephone  ;  and  through 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  147 

them  this  relation  is  glorified,  as  wifehood  be 
comes  sublime  in  Hera,  love  in  Aphrodite,  and 
maidenhood,  active  or  contemplative,  in  Ar 
temis  and  Athena. 

But  besides  these  five  attitudes  of  woman  as 
girl,  maiden,  lover,  wife,  and  mother,  there  must 
be  finally  one  which  shall  comprise  all  of  these, 
and  may  outlast  them  all.  HESTIA,  or  Vesta, 
is  the  sister  of  Zeus,  but  not  his  wife  like  Hera, 
nor  his  symbolical  mistress  like  Demeter  ;  nay, 
when  sought  in  marriage  by  Phoebus  and  Posei 
don,  she  has  sworn  by  the  head  of  Zeus  to  be 
a  virgin  forever.  She  represents  woman  as 
queen  of  home.  Houses  are  her  invention.  No 
separate  temple  is  built  to  her,  for  every  hearth 
is  her  altar ;  no  special  sacrifices  are  offered, 
for  she  has  the  first  share  of  every  sacrifice. 
Every  time  the  household  meets  before  the 
hearth,  she  is  named,  and  the  meal  becomes 
thereby  an  act  of  worship.  Every  indoor  oath 
must  be  sworn  by  her.  The  worst  criminal 
who  enters  the  house  and  touches  the  hearth  is 
sacred  for  her  sake. 

On  the  eighth  day  of  the  Greek  baby's  life 
comes  its  baptism  before  Hestia,  not  with  water 
but  with  fire,  —  the  ceremony  of  the  Amphi- 
dromia,  when  the  nurse  and  all  the  women  of 
the  house  bear  the  little  one  to  the  hearth. 
Laying  aside  their  clothing,  —  because  this  is 


148     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  intimate  domestic  ritual,  when  body  and 
soul  are  consecrated  in  their  uncovered  purity, 
—  they  pass  in  procession  round  the  central 
flame,  and  thenceforth  Hestia  is  the  protectress 
of  the  child. 

And  observe  how  beautifully  this  sublime 
protection  of  the  hearth  is  spread  yet  further. 
As  the  city  itself  is  but  an  extended  family,  so 
the  city  also  has  its  sacred  hearth,  where  the 
public  fire  is  kept  burning,  and  the  public  sup 
pliants  come.  The  fugitive  entering  the  town 
comes  here  for  safety,  and  is  unmolested.  For 
eign  ambassadors  are  here  met  and  greeted  by 
the  magistrates.  If  a  colony  goes  forth,  the 
emigrants  take  coals  from  the  public  hearth  of 
the  town  they  leave.  Hestia's  fire  must  never 
go  out;  if  it  does,  it  must  only  be  rekindled 
from  the  sun. 

Thus  in  Greece,  as  in  Rome  afterwards,  the 
vestal  virgins  must  be  viewed  as  guarding  the 
central  sacredness  of  the  state.  Hence  the 
fearful  penalty  on  their  misdeeds,  and  the  vast 
powers  they  hold.  So  incarnated  in  them  is 
the  power  of  the  hearth  that  they  bear  it  with 
them,  and  if  they  meet  a  criminal,  he  must  be 
set  free.  I  know  no  symbol  of  the  power  of 
a  sublime  womanhood  like  that,  —  the  assump 
tion  that  vice  cannot  live  in  its  presence,  but  is 
transformed  to  virtue.  Could  any  woman  once 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  149 

be  lifted  to  a  realizing  sense  of  power  like 
that,  she  might  willingly  accept  the  accompany 
ing  penalty  of  transgression.  She  never  would 
transgress. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  six  primary  god 
desses  of  the  Greek  mythology.  It  will  be  said 
that,  even  according  to  the  highest  poetic  treat 
ment,  these  deities  had  their  imperfections. 
Certainly ;  this  was  their  crowning  merit,  for  it 
made  them  persons,  and  not  mere  abstractions. 
Their  traits  were  all  in  keeping;  their  faults 
belonged  to  their  temperaments.  Doubtless 
these  characters  grew  up  in  the  early  fancy  of 
that  people  as  fictitious  characters  grow  up  in 
the  mind  of  a  novelist ;  after  a  little  while  they 
get  beyond  his  control,  take  their  destiny  into 
their  own  hands,  and  if  he  tries  to  make  them 
monotonously  faultless,  they  rebel.  So  that 
wondrous  artist  we  call  the  Greek  nation  found 
itself  overmastered  by  the  vivid  personality  of 
these  creations  of  its  own.  It  was  absolutely 
obliged  to  give  Hera,  the  wife,  her  jealous  im- 
periousness,  and  Artemis,  the  maid,  her  cruel 
chastity.  Zeus  and  Actaeon  were  the  sufferers, 
because  consistency  and  nature  willed  it  so,  and 
refused  to  omit  these  slight  excesses.  So 
Athena,  the  virgin,  must  be  a  shade  too  cold, 
and  Aphrodite,  the  lover,  several  shades  too 
warm,  that  there  may  be  reality  and  human 


ISO     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

interest.  Demeter,  the  mother,  will  sacrifice 
the  whole  human  race  for  her  child ;  and  even 
Hestia  is  pitiless  to  those  who  profane  the 
sacred  altar  of  home.  Each  of  these  qualities 
is  the  stamp  of  nature  upon  the  goddess,  hold 
ing  fast  the  ideal,  lest  it  recede  beyond  human 
ken. 

So  perfect  was  this  prism  of  feminine  exist 
ence,  it  comprised  every  primary  color.  So 
well  did  this  series  of  divinities  cover  all  the 
functions  of  womanly  life,  that  none  could  fail 
of  finding  her  tutelary  goddess  in  some  shrine. 
An  imaginative  Greek  girl  had  not  an  epoch 
nor  an  instant  that  was  not  ennobled.  Every 
act  of  her  existence  was  glorified  in  some  tem 
ple  ;  every  dream  of  her  silent  hours  took  gar 
lands  and  singing  robes  around  it.  In  her  yet 
childish  freedom  she  was  Artemis  ;  "  in  maiden 
meditation,  fancy  free,"  she  was  Athena  ;  when 
fancy  bound,  she  was  Aphrodite ;  when  her  life 
was  bound  in  wedlock,  she  was  Hera ;  when 
enriched  by  motherhood,  she  became  Demeter, 
and  she  was  thenceforth  the  Hestia  of  her  own 
home,  at  least.  Her  life  was  like  a  revolving 
urn,  upon  which  she  could  always  see  one  great 
symbolic  image  sculptured,  though  each  in  its 
turn  gave  way  to  another. 

And  this  influence  was  enhanced  by  the 
actual  participation  of  Greek  women  in  the 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  151 

ceremonies  of  religion,  when  conducted  upon  a 
scale  that  our  modern  imaginations  can  hardly 
reproduce.  The  little  five-year-old  maids,  yel 
low-clad,  who  chanted  lines  from  Homer  at  the 
festival  of  Artemis  Brauronia ;  the  virgins  who 
from  seven  to  eleven  dwelt  on  the  rock  of  the 
Acropolis,  and  wove  the  sacred  garment  of 
Athena,  themselves  robed  in  white,  with  orna 
ments  of  gold  ;  the  flower-wreathed  girls  who 
bore  baskets  through  the  streets  at  the  Pan- 
athenaea  ;  the  matrons  who  directed  the  festival 
of  Hera  at  Elis ;  the  maidens  who  ran  in  that 
sacred  race,  knowing  that  the  victor's  portrait 
would  be  dedicated  in  the  temple;  the  high- 
priestess  of  Hera  at  Argos,  from  whose  acces 
sion  the  citizens  dated  their  calendar  of  years ; 
the  priestesses  of  Demeter,  who  alone  of  all 
women  might  attend  the  Olympic  games;  all 
these  saw  womanhood  deified  in  their  god 
desses  and  dignified  in  themselves.  The  vast 
religious  ceremonial  appealed  alike  to  the  high 
born  maidens  who  ministered  at  the  altars,  and 
to  the  peasant  girls  through  whom  the  oracles 
spoke.  Every  range  of  condition  and  of  cul 
ture  might  be  comprised  among  the  hundreds 
who  assembled  before  daybreak  to  bathe  the 
image  of  Pallas  in  the  sacred  river,  or  the 
thousands  who  walked  with  consecrated  feet  in 
the  long  procession  to  Eleusis.  In  individual 


152     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

cases,  the  service  brought  out  such  noble  virtue 
as  that  of  the  priestess  Theano,  who,  when 
Alcibiades  was  exiled  from  Athens  and  was 
sentenced  to  be  cursed  by  all  who  served  at 
the  altar,  alone  refused  to  obey,  saying  that  she 
was  consecrated  to  bless  and  not  to  curse.  But 
even  among  the  mass  of  Greek  women,  where 
so  much  time  was  spent  in  sharing  or  observ 
ing  this  ritual  of  worship,  life  must  have  taken 
some  element  of  elevation  through  contact  with 
the  great  ideal  women  of  the  sky. 

We  cannot  now  know,  but  can  only  conjec 
ture,  how  far  the  same  religious  influence  in 
spired  those  Greek  women  who,  in  more  secular 
spheres  of  duty,  left  their  names  on  their  coun 
try's  records.  When  Corinna  defeated  Pindar 
in  competing  for  the  poetic  prize ;  when  Helen 
of  Alexandria  painted  her  great  historic  picture, 
consecrated  in  the  Temple  of  Peace ;  when  the 
daughter  of  Thucydides  aided  or  completed  her 
father's  great  literary  work ;  when  the  Athenian 
Agnodice  studied  medicine,  disguised  as  a  man, 
and  practised  it  as  a  man,  and  was  prosecuted 
as  a  seducer,  and  then,  revealing  her  sex,  was 
prosecuted  for  her  deception,  till  the  chief  wo 
men  of  Athens  appeared  in  her  behalf  and 
secured  for  their  sex  the  right  to  be  physicians ; 
when  Telesilla  of  Argos  roused  her  countrywo 
men  to  defend  the  walls  against  the  Spartans, 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  153 

the  men  having  lost  courage,  —  after  which,  in 
a  commemorative  festival,  the  women  appeared 
in  male  attire  and  the  men  came  forth  veiled ; 
—  all  these  women  but  put  in  action  the  lessons 
of  aspiration  which  they  had  learned  in  the 
temples.  This  inspiration  derived  by  womanly 
genius  from  its  deity  is  finely  recognized  by 
Antipater  of  Thessalonica  in  that  fine  epigram 
where  he  enumerates  the  nine  poetesses  of 
Greece,  calls  them  "  artists  of  immortal  works," 
and  grandly  characterizes  them  as  "  women  who 
spoke  like  gods  in  their  hymns." 1 

I  do  not  propose  to  go  further,  and  discuss  the 
actual  condition  of  the  average  Greek  woman. 
That  would  demand  an  essay  by  itself.  You 
may  place  the  actual  condition  of  any  class  very 
high  or  very  low  if  you  look  at  it  two  thousand 
years  after,  and  select  all  the  facts  either  on 
the  favorable  or  on  the  unfavorable  side.  Yet 
this  is  what  St.  John  and  Becker,  for  instance, 
in  writing  of  the  Greek  women,  have  respec 
tively  done.  I  can  honestly  say  that  all  modern 
literature  and  art  taken  together  seem  to  me 
to  have  paid  to  woman  no  tribute  so  reverential 
as  in  the  worship  of  the  great  ideals  I  have 
named  But  in  actual  life  it  must  be  owned 
that  there  seems  to  have  been  the  same  strange 
mingling  of  delicate  courtesy  and  of  gross  con- 

1  ®eoy\(bff<rovs  yvvaiitas  S/j 


154     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

tempt  for  woman  which  lingers  in  our  society 
to-day.  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli,  whose  opinion 
on  this  subject  was  worth  more  than  that  of  any 
other  woman  in  America,  or  than  that  of  most 
men,  went  further  and  wrote :  "  Certainly  the 
Greeks  knew  more  of  real  home  intercourse 
and  more  of  woman  than  the  Americans.  It 
is  in  vain  to  tell  me  of  outward  observances. 
The  poets,  the  sculptors,  always  tell  the  truth." 

And  there  is  undoubtedly  much  in  the  more 
serious  Greek  literature  which  may  be  quoted 
to  sustain  this  assertion.  There  is  a  remark 
able  passage  of  Plato,  in  which  he  says  that 
children  may  find  comedy  more  agreeable,  but 
educated  women  l  and  youths  and  the  majority 
of  mankind  prefer  tragedy.  This  distinctly  re 
cognizes  intellectual  culture  as  an  element  in 
the  female  society  around  him  —  since  such  a 
remark  could  hardly  be  made,  for  instance,  in 
Turkey  ;  and  the  Diotima  of  his  Banquet  repre 
sents,  in  the  noblest  way,  the  inspirational  ele 
ment  in  woman. 

So  Homer  often  recognizes  the  intelligence 
or  judgment2  of  his  heroines.  Narrating  the 
events  of  a  semi-barbarous  epoch,  when  woman 

1  "Ai  Te  ireiraiSfvfi.fval  T&V  yvvauivi',  —  rendered  by  Ficinus 
mulieres  erudite.  Plato,  De  Leg.,  book  ii.  p.  791,  ed.  1602. 
Compare  book  vii.  p.  898,  same  edition. 

2 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  155 

was  the  prize  of  the  strongest,  he  yet  concedes 
to  her  a  dignity  and  courtesy  far  more  genuine 
than  are  shown  in  the  mediaeval  romances,  for 
instance,  in  which  the  reverence  seldom  outlasts 
marriage.  Every  eminent  woman,  as  viewed  by 
Homer,  partakes  of  the  divine  nature.  The 
maiden  is  to  be  approached  with  reverence  for 
her  virgin  purity ;  the  wife  has  her  rightful 
place  in  the  home.  When  Odysseus,  in  his  des 
titution,  takes  refuge  with  Nausicaa's  parents, 
the  princess  warns  him  to  kneel  at  her  mother's 
feet,  not  her  father's,  the  mother  being  the  cen 
tral  figure.  Perhaps  the  crowning  instance  of 
this  recognized  dignity  is  in  the  position  occu 
pied  by  Helen  after  her  return  to  her  husband's 
house,  when  the  storm  of  the  war  she  excited 
has  died  away.  There  is  a  singular  modernness 
and  domesticity  about  this  well-known  scene, 
though  the  dignity  and  influence  assigned  to 
the  repentant  wife  are  perhaps  more  than  mod 
ern.  In  the  Fourth  Book  of  the  Odyssey  the 
young  Telemachus  visits  King  Menelaus,  to  in 
quire  as  to  the  fate  of  his  own  father,  Odysseus. 
While  they  are  conversing,  Helen  enters, — 
the  beauty  of  the  world,  and  the  source  of  its 
greatest  ills.  She  comes  dignified,  graceful, 
honored,  —  shall  I  say,  like  a  modern  wife  ?  — 
and  joins  unbidden  in  the  conversation. 

"While  he   pondered    these  things  in  his 


Ij6    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

thoughts  and  in  his  mind,  forth  from  the  fra 
grant  and  lofty  chamber  came  Helen,  like  Ar 
temis  of  the  golden  distaff.  For  her  Adrasta 
immediately  placed  a  well-made  seat,  and  Al- 
cippe  brought  tapestry  of  soft  wool,  and  Phylo 
brought  a  silver  basket,  .  .  .  the  lips  finished 
with  gold,  .  .  .  filled  with  well-dressed  thread ; 
and  upon  it  the  distaff  was  stretched,  containing 
violet-colored  wool.  And  she  sat  on  the  seat, 
and  the  footstool  was  beneath  her  feet,  and  she 
straightway  inquired  everything  of  her  husband 
with  words. 

" '  Do  we  know,  O  thou  heavenly  nurtured 
Menelaus,  what  men  these  are  who  take  refuge 
in  our  house?  Shall  I  be  saying  falsely  or 
speak  the  truth  ?  Yet  my  mind  exhorts  me. 
I  say  that  I  have  never  seen  any  man  or  woman 
so  like  (reverence  possesses  me  as  I  behold  him) 
as  he  is  like  unto  Telemachus,  the  son  of  mag 
nanimous  Odysseus,  whom  that  man  left  an  in 
fant  in  his  house,  when  ye  Grecians  came  to 
Troy  on  account  of  me  immodest,  waging  fierce 
war.'  Her  answering,  said  auburn-haired  Me 
nelaus,  '  So  now  I  too  am  thinking,  my  wife,  as 
thou  dost  conjecture.'" 

What  a  quiet  sagacity  she  shows,  and  what  a 
position  of  accustomed  equality !  So  the  inter 
view  goes  on,  till  the  hostess  finally  mixes  them 
something  good  to  drink,  and  then  they  go  to 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  157 

rest,  and  there  in  a  recess  of  the  lofty  house 
"lies  long-robed  Helen,  a  divine  one  among 
women ! " 

The  same  stateliness  of  tone,  with  finer  spir 
itual  touches,  may  be  found  throughout  the 
Greek  tragedies.  The  Alcestis  and  Antigone 
are  world-renowned  delineations  of  noble  and 
tender  womanhood,  and  there  are  many  com 
panion  pictures.  I  know  not  where  in  literature 
to  look  for  a  lovelier  touch  of  feminine  feeling, 
—  a  trait  more  unlike  those  portrayed  by  Thack 
eray,  for  instance, — than  in  the  Deianira  of 
Sophocles  (in  the  Trachineae),  who  receives  with 
abundant  compassion  the  female  slaves  sent 
home  by  Hercules,  resolves  that  no  added  pain 
shall  come  to  them  from  her,  and  even  when 
she  discovers  one  of  them  to  be  the  beloved 
mistress  of  her  husband,  still  forgives  the  girl, 
in  the  agony  of  her  own  grief.  "  I  pity  her 
most  of  all,"  she  says,  "  because  her  own  beauty 
has  blasted  her  life,  ruined  her  nation,  and  made 
her  a  slave." 

Why  is  Euripides  so  often  described  as  a 
hater  of  women  ?  So  far  as  I  can  see,  he  only 
puts  emotions  of  hatred  into  the  hearts  of  in 
dividuals  who  have  been  ill-used  by  them,  and 
perhaps  deserved  it,  while  his  own  pictures  of 
womanhood,  from  Alcestis  downward,  show  the 
finest  touches  of  appreciation.  Iphigenia  re- 


IS8    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

fuses  to  be  saved  from  the  sacrifice,  and  insists 
on  dying  for  her  country ;  and  Achilles,  who 
would  fain  save  and  wed  her,  says  :  "  I  deem 
Greece  happy  in  thee,  and  thee  in  Greece ; 
nobly  hast  thou  spoken."  In  the  Troades,  He 
cuba  warns  Menelaus  that,  if  Helen  is  allowed 
on  the  same  ship  with  him,  she  will  disarm  his 
vengeance ;  he  disputes  it  and  she  answers, 
"He  is  no  lover  who  not  always  loves."  What 
a  recognition  is  there  of  the  power  of  a  wo 
man  to  inspire  a  passion  that  shall  outlast 
years  and  even  crime !  In  the  Electra,  where 
the  high-souled  princess  is  given  in  unwilling 
marriage  to  a  peasant,  he  treats  her  with  the 
most  delicate  respect,  and  she  dwells  in  his 
hut  as  his  virgin  sister,  so  that  she  says  to  him, 
"Thee  equal  to  the  gods  I  deem  my  friend." 
And  with  such  profound  reverence  is  every 
priestess  regarded  throughout  his  plays,  that  a 
brother  is  severely  rebuked,  in  one  case,  for 
treating  with  fraternal  familiarity  a  woman  so 
august. 

Another  proof  of  the  delicate  appreciation  of 
womanhood  among  the  Greeks  is  to  be  found 
in  the  exquisite  texture  of  their  love-poems,  —  a 
treasury  from  which  all  later  bards  have  bor 
rowed.  Even  the  prose  of  the  obscure  Philo- 
stratus  gave  Ben  Jonson  nearly  every  thought 
and  expression  in  his  "  Drink  to  me  only  with 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  159 

thine  eyes." 1  And  if,  following  Ben  Jonson, 
we  wish  to  know  what  man  can  say  "  in  a  little," 
we  must  seek  it  in  such  poems  as  this  by  Plato, 
preserved  in  the  Anthology :  — 

"  My  star,  upon  the  stars  thou  gazest.  Would 
that  I  were  heaven,  that  on  thee  I  might  look 
with  many  eyes  !  " 

Or  this  by  Julian,  on  a  picture :  — 

"The  painter  [depicts]  Theodota  herself. 
Had  he  but  failed  in  his  art,  and  given  forget- 
fulness  to  her  mourners !  "  2 

Or  this  other  picture-song  by  Paulus  Silen- 
tiaris  :  — 

"  The  pencil  has  scarce  missed  [the  beauty  of] 
the  maiden's  eyes,  or  her  hair,  or  the  consum 
mate  splendor  of  her  bloom.  If  any  one  can 
paint  flickering  sunbeams,  he  can  paint  also  the 
flickering  [beauty  of]  Theodorias."  3 

Or  this  garland  of  Rufinus  :  — 

"  I  send  you,  Rhodoclea,  this  garland,  having 
woven  it  with  my  own  hands  of  lovely  flowers. 
There  is  a  lily,  and-  a  rose-bud,  and  the  damp 
anemone,  and  moist  narcissus,  and  violet  with 
dark  blue  eyes.  But  do  you,  enwreathed  with 

1  'F.fjii'n  Se  fiAvoit  irp6irive  ro?s  ufj.fj.affu>.      Philostratus,  letter 
xxiv.     The  parallel  passages  may  be  found  in  Cumberland's 
Observer,  No.  74,  where  they  were  first  pointed  out. 

2  M\bi\v  SwKtv  oSt/po/ufVois.     Brunck's  Analecta,  ii.  502. 

3  MapjuapvyV  0eo8a>pia5oy.     Brunck,  iii.  90. 


160    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

them,  unlearn  pride,  for  both  you  and  the  gar 
land  are  in  blossom,  and  must  fade."  1 

We  must  remember  that,  as  Grote  has  well 
said,  all  we  know  of  the  Greeks  is  so  much 
saved  from  a  wrecked  vessel ;  and  while  greater 
and  rarer  things  are  brought  on  shore,  the  myr 
iad  of  small  and  common  things  are  gone.  It 
is  only  in  the  little  poems  of  the  Anthology 
that  we  unveil,  as  in  a  Pompeian  house,  the 
familiar  aspects  of  domestic  life.  There  the 
husband  addresses  his  wife,  the  son  his  mother ; 
and  home  traits  and  simple  joys  are  recorded. 
There  we  find  portrayed  the  intellect,  there  the 
heart  of  the  Greek  woman.  "  Melissias  denies 
her  love,  and  yet  her  body  cries  out,  as  if  it  had 
received  a  quiver  full  of  arrows  ;  unsteady  is  her 
gait,  unsteady  her  panting  breath,  and  hollow 
are  the  sinkings  of  her  eyelids."  Or,  "  I  lament 
for  the  maiden  Antibia,  for  whom  many  suitors 
came  to  her  father's  house,  through  the  renown 
of  her  beauty  and  intelligence,2  but  destructive 
fate  has  rolled  away  their  hopes  far  from  all." 

Perhaps  nothing  among  these  poems  gives  so 
naive  and  delicate  a  glimpse  of  Greek  maiden 
hood  as  this  inscription  from  a  votive  offering 
in  the  temple  of  Artemis,  where  brides  were 
wont  to  offer  their  childish  toys  at  the  approach 

1  'Ai>0ets  Ka.1  A^ryeis  icol  fa  Kal  &  ffretyavos.     Brunck,  ii.  394. 

2  liivuraros.     Brunck,  i.  201.     The  other  poem,  ii.  395. 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  161 

of  their  nuptials.  It  is  one  of  the  vast  mass  of 
anonymous  poems  in  the  Anthology  :  — 

"  Timarete,  before  her  marriage,  has  offered 
to  Artemis  her  tambourine,  and  her  precious 
ball,  and  her  net  that  protected  her  locks,  and 
her  dolls  and  her  dolls'  dresses,  as  is  fitting  for  a 
virgin  to  a  virgin,  O  Limnatis  !  And  do  thou, 
daughter  of  Latona,  place  thy  hand  over  the 
girl  Timarete,  and  preserve  holily  her  who  is 
holy."1 

Think  of  the  open  grossness  of  English  epi- 
thalamiums  down  almost  to  the  present  day, 
and  of  the  smooth  sensualities  of  French  litera 
ture  ;  and  then  consider  the  calm,  strong  sweet 
ness  of  that  prayer  for  this  childish  bride,  — 
"Preserve  holily  her  who  is  holy."  Are  the 
bridals  of  Trinity  Church  such  an  advance  be 
yond  the  temple  of  Artemis  ? 

At  any  rate,  the  final  result  of  Greek  worship 
was  this.  In  its  temples  the  sexes  stood  equal, 
goddess  was  as  sublime  as  god,  priestess  the 
peer  of  priest ;  there  was  every  influence  to 
ennoble  a  woman's  ideal  of  womanhood  so  long 
as  her  worship  lasted,  and  nothing  to  discourage 
her  from  the  most  consecrated  career.  In  Pro 
testant  Christian  churches,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  representations  of  Deity  are  all  masculine, 
the  Mediator  masculine,  the  evangelists,  the 

1  2ci£ois  TCH>  baieut  baitas.     Brunck,  iii.  173. 


162     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

apostles,  the  Church  fathers,  all  masculine  ;  so 
are  usually  the  ministers  and  the  deacons  ;  even 
the  old-time  deaconess,  sole  representative  of 
the  ancient  priestess,  is  gone  ;  nothing  feminine 
is  left  but  the  worshippers,  and  they  indeed  are 
feminine,  three  to  one. 

The  Roman  Catholic  Church,  with  more  wis 
dom  of  adaptation,  has  kept  one  goddess  from 
the  Greek ;  and  the  transformed  Demeter,  with 
her  miraculously  born  child,  now  become  mas 
culine,  presides  over  every  altar.  Softened 
and  beautified  from  the  elder  image,  she  is  still 
the  same,  —  the  same  indeed  with  all  the  my- 
thologic  mothers,  with  the  Maternal  Goddess 
who  sits,  with  a  glory  round  her  head  and  a 
babe  on  her  bosom,  in  every  Buddhist  house  in 
China,  or  with  Isis,  who  yet  nurses  Horus  on 
the  monuments  of  Egypt.  As  far  as  history 
can  tell,  this  group  first  appeared  in  Christian 
art  when  used  as  a  symbol,  in  the  Nestorian 
controversy,  by  Cyril,  who  had  spent  most  of 
his  life  in  Egypt.  Nestorius  was  condemned  in 
the  fifth  century  for  asserting  Mary  to  be  the 
mother  of  the  human  nature  of  Jesus,  and  not 
also  of  the  divine  ;  and  it  was  at  this  time  that 
the  images  of  the  Virgin  and  Child  were  multi 
plied,  to  protest  against  the  heretic  who  had 
the  minority  of  votes.  After  all,  Christian  ritu 
alism  is  but  a  palimpsest,  and  if  we  go  an  inch 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  163 

below  the  surface  anywhere,  there  is  some  elder 
sanctity  of  Greece  or  Rome.  I  remember  how 
this  first  flashed  upon  me,  when  I  saw,  in  a 
photograph  of  the  Pantheon,  the  whole  soul  of 
the  ancient  faith  in  the  words,  "  Deo  :  Opt : 
Max  : "  and  again,  when  in  the  first  Roman 
Catholic  procession  I  saw  in  Fayal,  a  great  ban 
ner  came  flapping  round  the  windy  corner  with 
only  the  inscription  "S.  P.  Q.  R."  The  phrase 
under  which  ancient  Rome  subdued  the  world 
still  lingers  in  those  borrowed  initials,  and  the 
Church  takes  its  goddess,  like  its  banner,  at 
second  hand. 

If  we  set  aside  its  queen,  the  Church  has 
added  no  new  image.  Martyrs  are  abundant 
in  every  faith,  and  saint  and  sibyl  add  but  a  few 
softer  touches  to  the  antique.  Mary  Magdalene 
is  really  the  sole  modern  figure,  and  she  has 
not  an  ideal  interest,  but  one  that  is  philanthro 
pic  alone.  Her  presence  in  art  asserts  the 
modern  spirit,  and  perhaps  marks  an  era  in  his 
tory.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  deny  its  value. 
Yet,  if  we  are  looking  for  the  very  highest,  it 
cannot  be  found  in  the  fallen  ;  and  if  we  must 
lose  either  from  the  temple,  we  can  better  spare 
the  suppliant  than  the  goddess. 

And  save  in  depicting  this  attribute  of  humil 
ity  or  contrition,  modern  literature,  at  least 
since  Petrarch,  seems  to  me  singularly  wanting 


164    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

in  grand  pictures  of  ideal  womanhood.  Spen 
ser's  impersonations,  while  pure  and  high,  are 
vague  and  impalpable.  Shakespeare's  women 
seem  at  best  far  inferior,  in  compass  and  vari 
ety,  to  Shakespeare's  men  ;  and  if  Ruskin  glori 
fies  them  sublimely  on  the  one  side,  Thackeray 
on  the  other  side  professes  to  find  in  them  the 
justification  of  his  own.  Goethe  paints  carefully 
a  few  varieties,  avoiding  the  largest  and  noblest 
types.  Where  among  all  these  delineations  is 
there  a  woman  who  walks  the  earth  like  a  god 
dess?  Where  is  the  incessu  patuit  dea  or 
Homer's  STo,  yvvai/cwv  ?  Among  recent  writers, 
George  Sand  alone  has  dared  even  to  attempt 
such  a  thing ;  she  tries  it  in  "  Consuelo,"  and 
before  the  divinity  has  got  her  wings  full-grown, 
she  is  enveloped,  goddess-like,  in  the  most  bewil 
dering  clouds. 

Perhaps  it  is  precisely  because  these  high 
ideals  were  so  early  reached,  that  it  is  now 
found  hard  to  do  more  than  reproduce  them. 
As  no  sculptor  can  produce  more  than  a  Greek 
profile,  so  no  poet  has  yet  produced  more  than 
a  Greek  woman.  Modern  life  has  not  aimed  to 
elevate  the  ideal,  but  the  average.  Common 
intelligence  spread  more  widely,  sweetness  and 
purity  protected,  more  respect  for  the  humblest 
woman  as  woman,  less  faith  in  the  sibyl  and 
the  saint,  —  this  is  modern  life. 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  165 

In  the  Middle  Ages  there  were  glimpses  of 
a  new  creation.  Raphael  painted,  Dante  sang, 
something  that  promised  more  than  Greece 
gave ;  but  it  came  to  nothing.  Superstition 
was  in  the  way ;  the  new  woman  did  not  get 
herself  disentangled  from  a  false  mythology 
and  an  unnatural  asceticism,  and  was  never 
fairly  born.  Art  could  not  join  what  God  had 
put  asunder  ;  the  maid-mother  was  after  all  an 
image  less  noble  than  maid  or  mother  sepa 
rately.  That  path  is  closed  ;  I  rejoice  that  we 
can  have  no  more  Madonnas ;  we  have  come 
back  to  nature,  and  are  safe  beneath  its  eternal 
laws.  There  is  no  fear  for  the  future  ;  eterni 
ties  stretch  out  that  way,  and  only  centuries  the 
other. 

That  wonderful  old  mythology  is  gone  ;  that 
great  race  shed  it,  lightly  as  leaves  in  autumn, 
and  went  its  way.  These  names  of  Hera  and 
Aphrodite  are  but  autumn  leaves  which  I  have 
caught  in  my  hands,  to  show  the  red  tints  that 
still  linger  on  their  surface ;  they  have  lasted 
long,  but  who  knows  how  soon  they  will  be 
faded  and  forgotten  ?  Yet  not  till  the  world  is 
rich  enough  to  have  a  race  more  ideal  than  the 
Greeks  will  there  be  another  harvest  of  any 
thing  so  beautiful  to  the  imagination.  Nature 
is  the  same ;  the  soil  of  Attica  was  as  barren 
as  that  of  Massachusetts.  The  life  of  man  has 


166    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

grown  more  practical,  more  judicious,  more  sen 
sitive  to  wrong,  more  comprehensive  in  sym 
pathy;  common-sense  has  been  the  gainer,  so 
has  common  virtue ;  it  is  only  the  ideal  that  has 
grown  tame. 

We  are  laying  the  foundations  of  a  grander 
temple,  I  trust,  than  any  of  which  the  Greeks 
ever  dreamed,  and  we  toil  among  the  dust  and 
rubbish,  waiting  for  the  goddess  and  the  shrine. 
Nothing  shall  drive  me  from  the  belief  that 
there  is  arising  in  America,  amid  all  our  fri 
volities,  a  type  of  virgin  womanhood,  new  in 
history,  undescribed  in  fiction,  from  which  there 
may  proceed,  in  generations  yet  to  come,  a 
priesthood  more  tender,  a  majesty  more  pure 
and  grand,  than  anything  which  poet  ever  sang 
or  temple  enthroned.  Through  tears  and  smiles, 
through  the  blessed  cares  that  have  trained 
the  heart  of  womanhood  in  all  ages,  but  also 
through  a  culture  such  as  no  other  age  has 
offered,  through  the  exercise  of  rights  never 
before  conceded,  of  duties  never  yet  imposed, 
will  this  heroic  sisterhood  be  reared.  Joining 
the  unforgotten  visions  of  Greek  sublimity  with 
the  meeker  graces  of  Christian  tradition,  there 
may  yet  be  nobler  forms,  that  shall  eclipse  those 
"  fair  humanities  of  old  religion ; "  as,  when 
classic  architecture  had  reached  perfection, 


THE  GREEK  GODDESSES  167 

there  rose  the  Gothic,  and  made  the  Greek 
seem  cold. 

NOTE.  —  The  Paris  Revue  Britannique  of  October,  1869, 
contained  a  translation  of  this  essay,  under  the  title  of  Les 
Df esses  Grecquest  in  which  occurred  some  amusing  variations. 
For  instance,  the  mild  satire  of  the  sentence,  "  Their  gene 
alogies  have  been  discussed,  as  if  they  lived  in  Boston  or  Phil 
adelphia,"  underwent  this  European  adaptation  :  Leur  gf- 
nealogie  a  £t£  discutie  comme  celle  des  nobles  dames  de  la  socittf 
moderne  en  Angleterre  et  en  France  pourrail  fetre  dans  un 
college  heraldique. 


SAPPHO 

THE  voyager  in  the  ^Egean  Sea,  who  has 
grown  weary  of  the  prevailing  barrenness  of 
the  Grecian  Isles,  finds  at  length,  when  in  sight 
of  Lesbos,  something  that  fulfils  his  dreams  of 
beauty.  The  village  of  Mitylene,  which  now 
gives  its  name  to  the  island,  is  built  upon  a 
rocky  promontory,  with  a  harbor  on  either 
hand.  Behind  it  there  are  softly  wooded  hills, 
swelling  to  meet  the  abrupt  bases  of  the  loftier 
mountains.  These  hills  are  clothed  in  one 
dense  forest  of  silvery  olive  and  darker  pome 
granate,  and  as  you  ascend  their  paths,  the 
myrtle,  covered  with  delicate  white  blossoms, 
and  exhaling  a  sweet  perfume,  forms  a  con 
tinuous  arch  above  your  head.  The  upper 
mountain  heights  rise  above  vegetation,  but 
their  ravines  are  dyed  crimson  with  fringing 
oleanders.  From  the  summits  of  their  passes 
you  look  eastward  upon  the  pale  distances  of 
Asia  Minor,  or  down  upon  the  calm  JEgean, 
intensely  blue,  amid  which  the  island  rests  as 
if  inlaid  in  lapis  lazuli, 

This  decaying  Turkish  village  of  Mitylene 
marks  the  site  of  what  was,  twenty-five  cen- 


SAPPHO  169 

turies  ago,  one  of  the  great  centres  of  Greek 
civilization.  The  city  then  covered  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  peninsula,  and  the  grand  canal, 
that  separated  it  from  the  mainland,  was  crossed 
by  bridges  of  white  marble.  The  great  theatre 
of  Mitylene  was  such  a  masterpiece  of  architec 
ture,  that  the  Roman  Pompey  wished  to  copy 
it  in  the  metropolis  of  the  world.  The  city 
was  classed  by  Horace  with  Rhodes,  Ephesus, 
and  Corinth.  Yet  each  of  those  places  we  now 
remember  as  famous  in  itself,  while  we  think 
of  Lesbos  only  as  the  home  of  Sappho. 

It  was  in  the  city  of  Mitylene  that  she  lived 
and  taught  and  sung.  But  to  find  her  birth 
place  you  must  traverse  nearly  the  length  of  the 
island,  till  you  come  to  Ereso  or  Eresus,  a  yet 
smaller  village,  and  Greek  instead  of  Turkish. 
To  reach  it  you  must  penetrate  aromatic  pine 
forests,  where  the  deer  lurk,  and  must  ascend 
mountain  paths  like  rocky  ladders,  where  the 
mule  alone  can  climb.  But  as  you  approach 
the  village,  you  find  pastoral  beauty  all  around 
you ;  though  the  ^Eolian  lyric  music  is  heard 
no  more,  yet  the  hillsides  echo  with  sheep- 
bells  and  with  the  shepherds'  cries.  Among 
the  villagers  you  find  manners  more  simple  and 
hospitable  than  elsewhere  in  the  Greek  islands  ; 
there  are  more  traces  of  the  ancient  beauty  of 
the  race ;  and  the  women  on  festal  days  wear 


i;o    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

long  white  veils  edged  with  a  crimson  border, 
and  look,  as  they  follow  one  another  to  church, 
like  processional  figures  on  an  antique  urn. 
These  women  are  permitted  to  share  the  meals 
of  their  husbands,  contrary  to  the  usual  prac 
tice  of  rural  Greece ;  and  as  a  compensation, 
they  make  for  their  husbands  such  admirable 
bread,  that  it  has  preserved  its  reputation  for 
two  thousand  years.  The  old  Greek  poet  Ar- 
chestratus,  who  wrote  a  work  on  the  art  of 
cookery,  said  that  if  the  gods  were  to  eat  bread, 
they  would  send  Hermes  to  Eresus  to  buy  it ; 
and  the  only  modern  traveller,  so  far  as  I  know, 
who  has  visited  the  village,  reports  the  same 
excellent  recipe  to  be  still  in  vogue.1 

It  was  among  these  well-trained  women  that 
the  most  eminent  poetess  of  the  world  was 
born.  Let  us  now  turn  and  look  upon  her  in 
her  later  abode  of  Mitylene  ;  either  in  some  gar 
den  of  orange  and  myrtle,  such  as  once  skirted 
the  city,  or  in  that  marble  house  which  she  called 
the  dwelling  of  the  Muses.2  Let  us  call  around 
her,  in  fancy,  the  maidens  who  have  come  from 
different  parts  of  Greece  to  learn  of  her.  Anac- 
toria  is  here  from  Miletus,  Eunica  from  Sala- 
mis,  Gongyla  from  Colophon,  and  others  from 

1  Travels  and  Discoveries  in  the  Levant,  by  C.  T.  Newton, 
i.  99.    London,  1865. 

2  MoutTUTr6\w  o'tKiav. 


SAPPHO  171 

Pamphylia  and  the  isle  of  Telos.  Erinna  and 
Damophyla  study  together  the  complex  Sapphic 
metres;  Atthis  learns  how  to  strike  the  harp 
with  the  plectron,  Sappho's  invention  ;  Mnasi- 
dica  embroiders  a  sacred  robe  for  the  temple. 
The  teacher  meanwhile  corrects  the  measures 
of  one,  the  notes  of  another,  the  stitches  of  a 
third,  then  summons  all  from  their  work  to 
rehearse  together  some  sacred  chorus  or  temple 
ritual ;  then  stops  to  read  a  verse  of  her  own, 
or  —  must  I  say  it  ?  —  to  denounce  a  rival  pre 
ceptress.  For  if  the  too  fascinating  Andro 
meda  has  beguiled  away  some  favorite  pupil  to 
one  of  those  rival  feminine  academies  that  not 
only  exist  in  Lesbos,  but  have  spread  as  far  as 
illiterate  Sparta,  then  Sappho  may  at  least  wish 
to  remark  that  Andromeda  does  not  know  how 
to  dress  herself.  "  And  what  woman  ever 
charmed  thy  mind,"  she  says  to  the  vacillating 
pupil,  "  who  wore  a  vulgar  and  tasteless  dress, 
or  did  not  know  how  to  draw  her  garments 
close  about  her  ankles  ? " 

Out  of  a  long  list  of  Greek  poetesses  there 
were  seven  women  who  were,  as  a  poem  in  the 
Greek  Anthology  says,  "  divinely  tongued  "  or 
"  spoke  like  gods." 1  Of  these  Sappho  was 
the  admitted  chief.  Among  the  Greeks  "the 
poet "  meant  Homer,  and  "  the  poetess  "  equally 

1  @foy\<S>affovs.    Brunck,  ii.  114. 


172    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

designated  her.  "There  flourished  in  those 
days,"  said  Strabo,  writing  a  little  before  our 
era,  "  Sappho,  a  wondrous  creature ;  for  we 
know  not  any  woman  to  have  appeared,  within 
recorded  time,  who  was  in  the  least  to  be  com 
pared  with  her  in  respect  to  poesy." 

The  dates  of  her  birth  and  death  are  alike 
uncertain,  but  she  lived  somewhere  between 
the  years  628  and  572  B.  c.  :  thus  flourishing 
three  or  four  centuries  after  Homer,  and  less 
than  two  centuries  before  Pericles.  Her 
.father's  name  is  variously  given,  and  we  can 
only  hope,  in  charity,  that  it  was  not  Scaman- 
dronimus.  We  have  no  better  authority  than 
that  of  Ovid  for  saying  that  he  died  when  his 
daughter  was  six  years  old.  Her  mother's 
name  was  Cleis,  and  Sappho  had  a  daughter  of 
the  same  name.  The  husband  of  the  poetess 
was  probably  named  Cercolas,  and  there  is  a 
faint  suspicion  that  he  was  a  man  of  property. 
It  is  supposed  that  she  became  early  a  widow, 
and  won  most  of  her  poetic  fame  while  in  that 
condition.  She  had  at  least  two  brothers  :  one 
being  Larichus,  whom  she  praises  for  his  grace 
ful  demeanor  as  cup-bearer  in  the  public  ban 
quets,  —  an  office  which  belonged  only  to 
beautiful  youths  of  noble  birth ;  the  other  was 
Charaxus,  whom  Sappho  had  occasion  to  re- 


SAPPHO  173 

proach,  according  to  Herodotus,1  for  buying  and 
marrying  a  slave  of  disreputable  antecedents. 

Of  the  actual  events  of  Sappho's  life  almost 
nothing  is  known,  except  that  she  once  had  to 
flee  for  safety  from  Lesbos  to  Sicily,  perhaps 
to  escape  the  political  persecutions  that  pre 
vailed  in  the  island.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
assume  that  she  had  reached  an  advanced  age 
when  she  spoke  of  herself  as  "one  of  the 
elders,"  2  inasmuch  as  people  are  quite  as  likely 
to  use  that  term  of  mild  self-reproach  while 
young  enough  for  somebody  to  contradict  them. 
It  is  hard  to  ascertain  whether  she  possessed 
beauty  even  in  her  prime.  Tradition  represents 
her  as  having  been  "  little  and  dark,"  but  tradi 
tion  describes  Cleopatra  in  the  same  way  ;  and 
we  should  clearly  lose  much  from  history  by 
ignoring  all  the  execution  done  by  small  bru 
nettes.  The  Greek  Anthology  describes  her 
as  "  the  pride  of  the  lovely  haired  Lesbians ; " 
Plato  calls  her  "  the  beautiful  Sappho  "  or  "  the 
fair  Sappho,"3  —  as  you  please  to  render  the 
phrase  more  or  less  ardently,  —  and  Plutarch 
and  Athenaeus  use  similar  epithets.  But  when 
Professor  Felton  finds  evidence  of  her  charms  in 

1  ii-  153.  2  repair  t pa. 

8  ScwnpoCs  TTJJ  ccoATjj.  Pkezdr.,  24.  Homer  celebrates  the 

beauty  of  the  Lesbian  women  in  his  day.  Iliad,  ix.  129, 
271. 


174     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

her  portraits  on  the  Lesbian  coins,  as  engraved 
by  Wolf,  I  must  think  that  he  is  too  easily 
pleased  with  the  outside  of  the  lady's  head, 
however  it  may  have  been  with  the  inside. 

The  most  interesting  intellectual  fact  in 
Sappho's  life  was  doubtless  her  relation  to  her 
great  townsman  Alcseus.  These  two  will  al 
ways  be  united  in  fame  as  the  joint  founders 
of  the  lyric  poetry  of  Greece,  and  therefore  of 
the  world.  Anacreon  was  a  child,  or  perhaps 
unborn,  when  they  died ;  and  Pindar  was  a  pupil 
of  women  who  seem  to  have  been  Sappho's 
imitators,  Myrtis  and  Corinna.  The  Latin 
poets  Horace  and  Catullus,  five  or  six  centuries 
after,  drew  avowedly  from  these  ^olian  models, 
to  whom  nearly  all  their  metres  have  been 
traced  back.  Horace  wrote  of  Alcaeus  :  "  The 
Lesbian  poet  sang  of  war  amid  the  din  of  arms, 
or  when  he  had  bound  the  storm-tossed  ship  to 
the  moist  shore,  he  sang  of  Bacchus,  and  the 
Muses,  of  Venus  and  the  boy  who  clings  for 
ever  by  her  side,  and  of  Lycus,  beautiful  with 
his  black  hair  and  black  eyes."1  But  the 
name  of  the  Greek  singer  is  still  better  pre 
served  to  Anglo-Saxons  through  an  imitation 
of  a  single  fragment  by  Sir  William  Jones,  — 
the  noble  poem  beginning  "What  constitutes 
a  state  ? "  It  is  worth  while  to  remember  that 

1  Carm.,  i.  32,  5. 


SAPPHO  175 

we  owe  these  fine  lines  to  the  lover  of  Sappho. 
And  indeed  the  poems  of  Alcaeus,  so  far  as 
they  remain,  show  much  of  the  grace  and 
elegance  of  Horace,  joined  with  a  far  more 
heroic  tone.  His  life  was  spent  amid  political 
convulsions,  in  which  he  was  prominent,  and, 
in  spite  of  his  fine  verses,  it  is  suspected,  from 
the  evidence  remaining,  that  he  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  fop  and  not  much  of  a  soldier  ;  and  it 
is  perhaps  as  well  that  the  lady  did  not  smile 
upon  him,  even  in  verse. 

Their  loves  rest,  after  all,  rather  on  tradition 
than  on  direct  evidence ;  for  there  remain  to  us 
only  two  verses  which  Alcaeus  addressed  to 
Sappho.  The  one  is  a  compliment,  the  other 
an  apology.  The  compliment  is  found  in  one 
graceful  line,  which  is  perhaps  her  best  descrip 
tion  :  — 

"  Violet-crowned,  pure,  sweetly  smiling  Sappho." 

The  freshness  of  those  violets,  the  charm  of 
that  smile,  the  assurance  of  that  purity,  all 
rest  upon  this  one  line,  and  securely  rest.  If 
every  lover,  having  thus  said  in  three  epithets 
the  whole  story  about  his  mistress,  would  be 
content  to  retire  into  oblivion,  and  add  no  more, 
what  a  comfort  it  would  be !  Alcaeus  un 
happily  went  one  phrase  further,  and  therefore 
goes  down  to  future  ages,  not  only  as  an  ardent 


176    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

lover,  but  as  an  unsuccessful  one.  For  Aristotle, 
in  his  "  Rhetoric,"  l  records  that  this  poet  once 
addressed  Sappho  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  wish  to  speak,  but  shame  restrains  my  tongue." 

Now  this  apology  may  have  had  the  simplest 
possible  occasion.  Alcseus  may  have  under 
taken  to  amend  a  verse  of  Sappho's  and  have 
spoiled  it ;  or  he  may  have  breakfasted  in  the 
garden,  with  her  and  her  maidens,  and  may 
have  spilled  some  honey  from  Hymettus  on  a 
crimson-bordered  veil  from  Eresus.  But  it  is 
recorded  by  Aristotle  that  the  violet-crowned 
thus  answered  :  "  If  thy  wishes  were  fair  and 
noble,  and  thy  tongue  designed  not  to  utter 
what  is  base,  shame  would  not  cloud  thine  eyes, 
but  thou  wouldst  freely  speak  thy  just  desires." 
Never  was  reproof  more  exquisitely  uttered  than 
is  this  in  the  Greek ;  and  if  we  take  it  for  seri 
ous,  as  we  probably  should,  there  is  all  the  dig 
nity  of  womanhood  in  the  reply,  so  that  Sappho 
comes  well  out  of  the  dialogue,  however  it  may 
be  with  her  wooer.  Yet  if,  as  is  also  possible, 
the  occasion  was  but  trivial,  it  is  rather  refresh 
ing  to  find  these  gifted  lovers,  in  the  very 
morning  of  civilization,  simply  rehearsing  just 
the  dialogue  that  goes  on  between  every  village 
schoolgirl  and  her  awkward  swain,  when  he 

1  Carm.,  i.  9. 


SAPPHO  177 

falters  and  "fears  to  speak,"  and  says  finally 
the  wrong  thing,  and  she  blushingly  answers, 
"  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed." 

But  whether  the  admiration  of  Alcaeus  was 
more  or  less  ardent,  it  certainly  was  not  pecul 
iar  to  him.  There  were  hardly  any  limits  to 
the  enthusiasm  habitually  expressed  in  ancient 
times  for  the  poetry  of  Sappho.  In  respect  to 
the  abundance  of  laurels,  she  stands  unap- 
proached  among  women,  even  to  the  present 
day.  ./Elian  preserves  the  tradition  that  the 
recitation  of  one  of  her  poems  so  affected  the 
great  lawgiver  Solon,  that  he  expressed  the 
wish  that  he  might  not  die  till  he  had  learned 
it  by  heart.  Plato  called  her  the  tenth  Muse. 
Others  described  her  as  uniting  in  herself  the 
qualities  of  Muse  and  Aphrodite;  and  others 
again  as  the  joint  foster-child  of  Aphrodite, 
Cupid,  and  the  Graces.  Grammarians  lectured 
on  her  poems  and  wrote  essays  on  her  metres ; 
and  her  image  appeared  on  at  least  six  different 
coins  of  her  native  land.  And  it  has  generally 
been  admitted  by  modern  critics  that  "  the  loss 
of  her  poems  is  the  greatest  over  which  we 
have  to  mourn  in  the  whole  range  of  Greek 
literature,  at  least  of  the  imaginative  species." 

Now  why  is  it  that,  in  case  of  a  woman  thus 
famous,  some  cloud  of  reproach  has  always 
mingled  with  the  incense  ?  In  part,  perhaps, 


178    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

because  she  was  a  woman,  and  thus  subject  to 
harsher  criticism  in  coarse  periods  of  the  world's 
career.  More,  no  doubt,  because  she  stood  in 
a  transition  period  of  history,  and,  in  a  contest 
between  two  social  systems,  represented  an 
unsuccessful  effort  to  combine  the  merits  of 
both.  In  the  Homeric  period  the  position  of 
the  Greek  woman  was  simple  and  free.  In  the 
Iliad  and  Odyssey  she  is  always  treated  with 
respect;  unlike  most  of  the  great  poems  of 
modern  Europe,  they  do  not  contain  an  indeli 
cate  line.  But  with  the  advancing  culture  of 
the  Ionian  colonies,  represented  by  Athens, 
there  inevitably  arose  the  question,  what  to  do 
with  the  women.  Should  they  be  admitted  to 
share  this  culture,  or  be  excluded  ?  Athens, 
under  the  influence  of  Asiatic  models,  decided 
to  exclude  them.  Sparta  and  the  Dorian  colo 
nies,  on  the  other  hand,  preferred  to  exclude  the 
culture.  It  was  only  the  ^olian  colonies,  such 
as  Lesbos,  that  undertook  to  admit  the  culture 
and  the  women  also.  Nowhere  else  in  Greece 
did  women  occupy  what  we  should  call  a  mod 
ern  position.  The  attempt  was  premature,  and 
the  reputation  of  Lesbos  was  crushed  in  the 
process. 

Among  the  lonians  of  Asia,  according  to 
Herodotus,  the  wife  did  not  share  the  table  of 
her  husband ;  she  dared  not  call  him  by  his 


SAPPHO  179 

name,  but  addressed  him  with  the  title  of 
"  Lord  "  ;  and  this  was  hardly  an  exaggeration 
of  the  social  habits  of  Athens  itself.  But 
among  the  Dorians  of  Sparta,  and  probably 
among  the  ALoli&ns  as  well,  the  husband  called 
his  wife  "mistress,"  not  in  subserviency,  but 
after  the  English  peasant  fashion ;  Spartan 
mothers  preserved  a  power  over  their  adult 
sons  such  as  was  nowhere  else  seen ;  the  dig 
nity  of  maidenhood  was  celebrated  in  public 
songs  called  "Parthenia,"  which  were  peculiar 
to  Sparta ;  and  the  women  took  so  free  a  part 
in  the  conversation,  that  Socrates,  in  a  half- 
sarcastic  passage  in  the  "  Protagoras,"  compares 
their  quickness  of  wit  to  that  of  the  men.1  The 
Spartan  women,  in  short,  were  free,  though 
ignorant,  and  this  freedom  the  Athenians 
thought  bad  enough.  But  when  the  ^Eolians 
of  Lesbos  carried  the  equality  a  step  further, 
and  to  freedom  added  culture,  the  Athenians 
found  it  intolerable.  Such  an  innovation  was 
equivalent  to  setting  up  the  Protestant  theory 
of  woman's  position  as  against  the  Roman 
Catholic,  or  the  English  against  the  French. 

1  The  best  authority  in  regard  to  the  Spartan  women  is 
K.  O.  Miiller's  Dorter,  book  iv.  c.  iv.,  also  book  v.  c.  viii. 
§  5  (Eng.  tr.  vol.  ii.  pp.  290-300 ;  also  p.  31 1).  For  his  view 
of  the  women  of  Lesbos  see  his  Literature  of  Greece  (Eng. 
tr.),  c.  xiii. 


i8o     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

It  is  perhaps  fortunate  for  historic  justice 
that  we  have  within  our  reach  an  illustration  so 
obvious,  showing  the  way  in  which  a  whole  race 
of  women  may  be  misconstrued.  If  a  French 
man  visits  America  and  sees  a  young  girl  walk 
ing  or  riding  with  a  young  man,  unchaperoned, 
he  is  apt  to  assume  that  she  is  of  doubtful  char 
acter.  Should  he  hear  a  married  woman  talk 
about  "emancipation,"  he  will  infer  either  that 
her  marriage  is  not  legal,  or  that  her  husband 
has  good  reason  to  wish  it  were  not.  Precisely 
thus  did  an  Athenian  view  a  Lesbian  woman ; 
and  if  she  collected  round  her  a  class  of  young 
pupils  for  instruction,  so  much  the  worse.  He 
could  no  more  imagine  any  difference  between 
Sappho  and  Aspasia,  than  could  a  Frenchman 
between  Margaret  Fuller  and  George  Sand. 
To  claim  any  high  moral  standard  in  either  case 
would  merely  strengthen  the  indictment  by  the 
additional  count  of  hypocrisy.  Better  Aspasia 
than  a  learned  woman  who  had  the  effrontery 
to  set  up  for  the  domestic  virtues.  The  stories 
that  thus  gradually  came  to  be  told  about 
Sappho  in  later  years  —  scandal  at  longer  and 
longer  range  —  were  simply  inevitable  from  the 
point  of  view  of  Athens.  If  Aristophanes 
spared  neither  Socrates  nor  Euripides,  why 
should  his  successors  spare  Sappho  ? 

Therefore  the  reckless  comic  authors  of  that 


SAPPHO  181 

luxurious  city,  those  Pre-Bohemians  of  litera 
ture,  made  the  most  of  their  game.  Ameipsias, 
Amphis,  Antiphanes,  Diphilus,  Ephippus,  Ti- 
mocles,  all  wrote  farces  bearing  the  name  of  a 
woman  who  had  died  in  excellent  repute,  so  far 
as  appears,  two  centuries  before.  With  what 
utter  recklessness  they  did  their  work  is  shown 
by  their  naming  as  her  lovers  Archilochus, 
who  died  before  she  was  born,  and  Hipponax, 
who  was  born  after  she  died.  Then  came,  in 
later  literature,  the  Roman  Ovid,  who  had 
learned  from  licentious  princesses  to  regard 
womanly  virtue  as  only  a  pretty  fable.  He  took 
up  the  tale  of  Sappho,  conjured  up  a  certain 
Phaon,  with  whom  she  might  be  enamored, 
and  left  her  memory  covered  with  stains  such 
as  even  the  Leucadian  leap  could  not  purge. 
Finally,  since  Sappho  was  a  heathen,  a  theolo 
gian  was  found  at  last  to  make  an  end  of  her ; 
the  Church  put  an  apostolic  sanction  upon  these 
corrupt  reveries  of  the  Roman  profligate,  and 
Tatian,  the  Christian  Father,  fixed  her  name  in 
ecclesiastical  tradition  as  that  of  "  an  impure  and 
lovesick  woman  who  sings  her  own  shame."  1 

The  process  has,  alas !  plenty  of  parallels  in 
history.  Worse,  for  instance,  than  the  malice 
of  the  Greek  comedians  or  of  Ovid  —  since  they 
possibly  believed  their  own  stories  —  was  the 

1  Tatian,  Adv.  Gracos,  c.  33.    Ovid,  fferoid.,  xv.  61-70. 


182    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

attempt  made  by  Voltaire  to  pollute,  through 
twenty-one  books  of  an  epic  poem,  the  stainless 
fame  of  his  own  virgin  countrywoman,  Joan  of 
Arc.  In  that  work  he  revels  in  a  series  of  im 
purities  so  loathsome  that  the  worst  of  them  are 
omitted  from  the  common  editions,  and  only 
lurk  in  appendices,  here  and  there,  as  if  even 
the  shameless  printing-presses  of  Paris  were 
ashamed  of  them.  Suppose,  now,  that  the  art 
of  printing  had  remained  undiscovered,  that  all 
contemporary  memorials  of  this  maiden  had 
vanished,  and  posterity  had  possessed  no  record 
of  her  except  Voltaire's  "Pucelle."  In  place 
of  that  heroic  image  there  would  have  remained 
to  us  only  a  monster  of  profligacy,  unless  some 
possible  Welcker  had  appeared,  long  centuries 
after,  to  right  the  wrong. 

The  remarkable  essay  of  Welcker,1  from 
which  all  modern  estimates  of  Sappho  date,  was 
first  published  in  1816,  under  the  title,  "  Sappho 
vindicated  from  a  prevailing  Prejudice."  It  was 
a  remarkable  instance  of  the  power  of  a  single 
exhaustive  investigation  to  change  the  verdict 
of  scholars.  Bishop  Thirlwall,  for  instance,  says 

1  "  Sappho  von  einem  herrschenden  Vorurtheil  befreit," 
Welcker,  Kleine  Schriften,  ii.  80.  See,  also,  his  "  Sappho,"  a 
review  of  Neue's  edition  of  her  works,  first  published  in  1828 
(1C.  S.,  i.  no),  and  "  Sappho  und  Phaon,"  published  in  1863, 
a  review  of  Mure  and  Theodor  Kock  (JC.  S.t  v.  228). 


SAPPHO  183 

of  it :  "  The  tenderness  of  Sappho,  whose  char 
acter  has  been  rescued,  by  one  of  the  happiest 
efforts  of  modern  criticism,  from  the  unmerited 
reproach  under  which  it  had  labored  for  so  many 
centuries,  appears  to  have  been  no  less  pure 
than  glowing."  And  Felton,  who  is  usually  not 
more  inclined  than  becomes  a  man  and  a  pro 
fessor  to  put  a  high  estimate  on  literary  women, 
declares  of  her  that  "  she  has  shared  the  for 
tunes  of  others  of  her  sex,  endowed  like  her 
with  God's  richest  gifts  of  intellect  and  heart, 
who  have  been  the  victims  of  remorseless  cal 
umny  for  asserting  the  prerogatives  of  genius, 
and  daring  to  compete  with  men  in  the  struggle 
for  fame  and  glory."  Indeed,  I  know  of  no 
writer  since  Welcker  who  has  seriously  at 
tempted  to  impugn  his  conclusions,  except 
Colonel  Mure,  an  Edinburgh  advocate,  whose 
onslaught  upon  Sappho  is  so  vehement  that 
Felton  compares  it  to  that  of  John  Knox  on 
Mary  Stuart,  and  finds  in  it  proof  of  a  consti 
tutional  hostility  between  Scotch  Presbyterians 
and  handsome  women. 

But  Mure's  scholarship  is  not  high,  when  tried 
by  the  German  standard,  whatever  it  may  be 
according  to  the  English  or  American.  His 
book  is  also  somewhat  vitiated  in  this  respect 
by  being  obviously  written  under  a  theory, 
namely,  that  love,  as  a  theme  for  poetry,  is  a 


184    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

rather  low  and  debasing  thing;  that  the  subor 
dinate  part  it  plays  in  Homer  is  one  reason  why 
Homer  is  great ;  and  that  the  decline  of  litera 
ture  began  with  lyric  poetry.  "  A  ready  sub 
jection,"  he  says,  "to  the  fascinations  of  the 
inferior  order  of  their  species  can  hardly  be  a 
solid  basis  of  renown  for  kings  or  heroes." 
Such  a  critic  could  hardly  be  expected  to  look 
with  favor  upon  one  who  not  only  chose  an  in 
ferior  order  of  themes,  but  had  the  temerity  to 
belong  to  an  inferior  order  herself. 

Apart  from  this,  I  am  unable  to  see  that  this 
writer  brings  forward  anything  to  disturb  the 
verdict  of  abler  scholars.  He  does  not  indeed 
claim  to  produce  any  direct  evidence  of  his  pro 
position  that  Sappho  was  a  corrupt  woman,  and 
her  school  at  Lesbos  a  nursery  of  sins ;  but  he 
seeks  to  show  this  indirectly,  through  a  minute 
criticism  of  her  writings.  Into  this  he  carries, 
I  regret  to  say,  an  essential  coarseness  of  mind, 
like  that  of  Voltaire,  which  delights  to  torture 
the  most  innocent  phrases  till  they  yield  a  double 
meaning.  He  reads  these  graceful  fragments 
as  the  sailors  in  some  forecastle  might  read 
Juliet's  soliloquies,  or  as  a  criminal  lawyer  reads 
in  court  the  letters  of  some  warm-hearted  wo 
man  ;  the  shame  lying  not  in  the  words,  but  in 
the  tongue.  The  manner  in  which  he  gloats 
over  the  scattered  lines  of  a  wedding  song,  for 


SAPPHO  185 

instance,  weaving  together  the  phrases  and  sup 
plying  the  innuendoes,  is  enough  to  rule  him 
out  of  the  class  of  pure-minded  men.  But 
besides  this  quality  of  coarseness,  he  shows  a 
serious  want  of  candor.  For  though  he  admits 
that  Sappho  first  introduced  into  literature  —  in 
her  Epithalamia  —  a  dramatic  movement,  yet 
he  never  gives  her  the  benefit  of  this  dramatic 
attitude  except  where  it  suits  his  own  argument. 
It  is  as  if  one  were  to  cite  Browning  into  court 
and  undertake  to  convict  him,  on  his  own  con 
fession,  of  sharing  every  mental  condition  he 
describes. 

What,  then,  was  this  Lesbian  school  that 
assembled  around  Sappho  ?  Mure  pronounces 
it  to  have  been  a  school  of  vice.  The  German 
professors  see  in  it  a  school  of  science.  Pro 
fessor  Felton  thinks  that  it  may  have  resembled 
the  Courts  of  Love  in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  a 
more  reasonable  parallel,  nearer  home,  must 
occur  to  the  minds  of  those  of^ps  who  remem 
ber  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  atlcclier  classes.  If 
Sappho,  in  addition  to  all  that  the  American  gave 
her  pupils,  undertook  the  duty  of  instruction  in 
the  most  difficult  music,  the  most  complex  me 
tres,  and  the  profoundest  religious  rites,  then  she 
had  on  her  hands  quite  too  much  work  to  be  ex 
clusively  a  troubadour  or  a  savante  or  a  sinner. 
And  if  such  ardent  attachments  as  Margaret 


186    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Fuller  Ossoli  inspired  among  her  own  sex  were 
habitually  expressed  by  Sappho's  maiden  lovers, 
in  the  language  of  Lesbos  instead  of  Boston,  we 
can  easily  conceive  of  sentimental  ardors  which 
Attic  comedians  would  find  ludicrous  and  Scotch 
advocates  nothing  less  than  a  scandal. 

Fortunately  we  can  come  within  six  centuries 
of  the  real  Lesbian  society  in  the  reports  of 
Maximus  Tyrius,  whom  Felton  strangely  calls 
"  a  tedious  writer  of  the  time  of  the  Antonines," 
but  who  seems  to  me  often  to  rival  Epictetus 
and  Plutarch  in  eloquence  and  nobleness  of  tone. 
In  his  eighth  dissertation  he  draws  a  parallel 
between  the  instruction  given  by  Socrates  to 
men  and  that  afforded  by  Sappho  to  women. 
"  Each,"  he  says,  "  appears  to  me  to  deal  with 
the  same  kind  of  love,  the  one  as  subsist 
ing  among  males,  the  other  among  females." 
"  What  Alcibiades  and  Charmides  and  Phaedrus 
are  with  Socrates,  that  Gyrinna  and  Atthis  and 
Anactoria  are  with  the  Lesbian.  And  what 
those  rivals  Prodicus,  Gorgias,  Thrasymachus, 
and  Protagoras  are  to  Socrates,  that  Gorgo  and 
Andromeda  are  to  Sappho.  At  one  time  she 
reproves,  at  another  she  confutes  these,  and 
addresses  them  in  the  same  ironical  language 
with  Socrates."  Then  he  draws  parallels  be 
tween  the  writings  of  the  two.  "  Diotima  says 
to  Socrates  that  love  flourishes  in  abundance, 


SAPPHO  187 

but  dies  in  want.  Sappho  conveys  the  same 
meaning  when  she  calls  love  '  sweetly  bitter ' 
and  'a  painful  gift.'  Socrates  calls  love  'a 
sophist,'  Sappho  'a  ringlet  of  words.'  Socra 
tes  says  that  he  is  agitated  with  Bacchic  fury 
through  the  love  of  Phaedrus  ;  but  she  that 
*  love  shakes  her  mind  as  the  wind  when  it  falls 
on  mountain-oaks.'  Socrates  reproves  Xantippe 
when  she  laments  that  he  must  die,  and  Sappho 
writes  to  her  daughter,  '  Grief  is  not  lawful  in 
the  residence  of  the  Muse,  nor  does  it  become 
us.'" 

Thus  far  Maximus  Tyrius.  But  that  a  high 
intellectual  standard  prevailed  in  this  academy 
of  Sappho's  may  be  inferred  from  a  fragment 
of  her  verse,  in  which  she  utters  her  disappoint 
ment  over  an  uncultivated  woman,  whom  she 
had,  perhaps,  tried  in  vain  to  influence.  This 
imaginary  epitaph  warns  this  pupil  that  she  is 
in  danger  of  being  forgotten  through  forgetful- 
ness  of  those  Pierian  roses  which  are  the  Muses' 
symbol.  This  version  retains  the  brevity  of 
the  original  lines,  and  though  rhymed,  is  literal, 
except  that  it  changes  the  second  person  to  the 
third :  — 

Dying  she  reposes ; 

Oblivion  grasps  her  now  ; 

Since  never  Pierian  roses 

Were  wreathed  round  her  empty  browj 


188     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

She  goeth  unwept  and  lonely 
To  Hades'  dusky  homes, 
And  bodiless  shadows  only 
Bid  her  welcome  as  she  comes. 

To  show  how  differently  Sappho  lamented 
her  favorites,  I  give  Elton's  version  of  another 
epitaph  on  a  maiden,  whom  we  may  fancy  lying 
robed  for  the  grave,  while  her  companions  sever 
their  tresses  around  her,  that  something  of 
themselves  may  be  entombed  with  her. 

"  This  dust  was  Timas' ;  ere  her  bridal  hour 
She  lies  in  Proserpina's  gloomy  bower ; 
Her  virgin  playmates  from  each  lovely  head 
Cut  with  sharp  steel   their  locks,  the  strewments  for  the 
dead." 

These  are  only  fragments  ;  but  of  the  single 
complete  poem  that  remains  to  us  from  Sappho, 
I  shall  venture  on  a  translation,  which  can  claim 
only  to  be  tolerably  literal,  and  to  keep,  in  some 
degree,  to  the  Sapphic  metre.  Yet  I  am 
cheered  by  the  remark  of  an  old  grammarian, 
Demetrius  Phalereus,  that  "  Sappho's  whole 
poetry  is  so  perfectly  musical  and  harmonious, 
that  even  the  harshest  voice  or  most  awkward 
recital  can  hardly  render  it  unpleasing  to  the 
ear."  Let  us  hope  that  the  Muses  may  extend 
some  such  grace,  even  to  a  translation. 


SAPPHO  189 


HYMN  TO  APHRODITE 

Beautiful-throned,  immortal  Aphrodite  I 
Daughter  of  Zeus,  beguiler,  I  implore  thee, 
Weigh  me  not  down  with  weariness  and  anguish, 

0  thou  most  holy  ! 

Come  to  me  now !  if  eyer  thou  in  kindness 
Hearkenedst  my  words,  —  and  often  hast  thou  hearkened, 
Heeding,  and  coming  from  the  mansions  golden 
Of  thy  great  Father, 

Yoking  thy  chariot,  borne  by  thy  most  lovely 
Consecrated  birds,  with  dusky-tinted  pinions, 
Waving  swift  wings  from  utmost  heights  of  heaven 
Through  the  mid-ether : 

Swiftly  they  vanished ;  leaving  thee,  O  goddess, 
Smiling,  with  face  immortal  in  its  beauty, 
Asking  why  I  grieved,  and  why  in  utter  longing 

1  had  dared  call  thee ; 

Asking  what  I  sought,  thus  hopeless  in  desiring, 
'Wildered  in  brain,  and  spreading  nets  of  passion 
Alas,  for  whom  ?  and  saidst  thou,  "  Who  has  harmed  thee  ? 
O  my  poor  Sappho  !  " 

"  Though  now  he  flies,  erelong  he  shall  pursue  thee ; 
Fearing  thy  gifts,  he  too  in  turn  shall  bring  them ; 
Loveless  to-day,  to-morrow  he  shall  woo  thee, 
Though  thou  shouldst  spurn  him." 

Thus  seek  me  now,  O  holy  Aphrodite  ! 
Save  me  from  anguish,  give  me  all  I  ask  for, 
Gifts  at  thy  hand ;  and  thine  shall  be  the  glory, 
Sacred  protector ! 


190    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  lyrical 
poem  in  Greek  literature,  nor  in  any  other, 
which  has,  by  its  artistic  structure,  inspired 
more  enthusiasm  than  this.  Is  it  autobiogra 
phical  ?  The  German  critics,  true  to  their  na 
tional  instincts,  hint  that  she  may  have  written 
some  of  her  verses  in  her  character  of  peda 
gogue,  as  exercises  in  different  forms  of  verse. 
It  is  as  if  Shakespeare  had  written  his  sonnet, 
"  Shall  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day  ? " 
only  to  show  young  Southampton  where  the 
rhymes  came  in.  Still  more  difficult  is  it  to 
determine  the  same  question  —  autobiogra 
phical  or  dramatic  ?  —  in  case  of  the  fragment 
next  hi  length  to  this  poem.  It  has  been  well 
engrafted  into  English  literature  through  the 
translation  of  Ambrose  Philips,  as  follows  :  — 

"TO  A  BELOVED   WOMAN 

"  Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  he, 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee, 
And  hears  and  sees  thee,  all  the  while, 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile. 

"  T  was  that  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumult  in  my  breast ; 
For  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  tost, 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost. 

"  My  bosom  glowed  ;  the  subtile  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame  ; 
On  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung ; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung. 


SAPPHO  191 

"  With  dewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chilled ; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrilled ; 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play ; 
I  fainted,  sunk,  and  died  away." 

The  translation  would  give  the  impression 
that  this  is  a  complete  poem  ;  but  it  is  not.  A 
fragment  of  the  next  verse  brings  some  revival 
from  this  desperate  condition,  but  what  exit  is 
finally  provided  does  not  appear.  The  existing 
lines  are  preserved  by  Longinus  in  the  eighth 
chapter  of  his  famous  book,  "  On  the  Sublime ; " 
and  his  commentary  is  almost  as  impassioned 
as  the  poem.  "Is  it  not  wonderful  how  she 
calls  at  once  on  soul,  body,  ears,  tongue,  eyes, 
color,  —  as  on  so  many  separate  deaths,  —  and 
how  in  self-contradiction  and  simultaneously 
she  freezes,  she  glows,  she  raves,  she  returns 
to  reason,  she  is  terrified,  she  is  at  the  brink  of 
death?  It  is  not  a  single  passion  that  she 
exhibits,  but  a  whole  congress  of  passions." 
The  poem  thus  described,  while  its  grammatical 
formations  show  it  to  have  been  addressed  by 
a  woman  to  a  woman,  is  quite  as  likely  to  have 
been  dramatic  as  autobiographical  in  its  motive. 
It  became  so  famous,  at  any  rate,  as  a  diagnosis 
of  passion,  that  a  Greek  physician  is  said  to 
have  "  copied  it  bodily  into  his  book,  and  to 
have  regulated  his  prescriptions  accordingly." 

All  that  remains  to  us  of  Sappho,  besides,  is 


192    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

a  chaos  of  short  fragments,  which  have  been 
assiduously  collected  and  edited  by  Wolf,  Blom- 
field,  Neue,  and  others.  Among  the  spirited 
translations  by  our  own  poet  Percival,  there  are 
several  of  these  fragments ;  one  of  which  I 
quote  for  its  exceeding  grace,  though  it  consists 
of  only  two  lines  :  — 

"  Sweet  mother,  I  can  weave  the  web  no  more  ; 
So  much  I  love  the  youth,  so  much  I  lingering  love." 

But  this  last  adjective,  so  effective  to  the  ear, 
is,  after  all,  an  interpolation.  It  should  be  :  — 

So  much  I  love  the  youth,  by  Aphrodite's  charm. 

Percival  also  translates  one  striking  fragment 
whose  few  short  lines  seem  to  toll  like  a  bell, 
mourning  the  dreariness  of  a  forgotten  tryst, 
on  which  the  moon  and  stars  look  down.  I 
should  render  it  thus  :  — 

The  moon  is  down ; 

And  I  've  watched  the  dying 

Of  the  Pleiades ; 

'T  is  the  middle  night, 

The  hour  glides  by, 

And  alone  I  'm  sighing. 

Percival  puts  it  in  blank  verse,  more  smoothly : 

"  The  moon  is  set ;  the  Pleiades  are  gone  ; 
'T  is  the  midnoon  of  night ;  the  hour  is  by, 
And  yet  I  watch  alone." 

There  are  some  little  fragments  of  verse  ad 
dressed  by  Sappho  to  the  evening  star,  which 


SAPPHO  193 

are  supposed  to  have  suggested  the  celebrated 
lines  of  Byron  ;  she  says,  — 

"  O  Hesperus,  thou  bringest  all  things, 
Thou  bringest  wine,  thou  bringest  [home]  the  goat, 
To  the  mother  thou  bringest  the  child." 

Again  she  says,  with  a  touch  of  higher  imagi 
nation,  — 

"  Hesperus,  bringing  home  all  that  the  light-giving  morning 
has  scattered." 

Grammarians  have  quoted  this  line  to  illustrate 
the  derivation  of  the  word  Hesperus ; l  and  the 
passage  may  be  meant  to  denote,  not  merely 
the  assembling  of  the  household  at  night,  but 
the  more  spiritual  reuniting  of  the  thoughts  and 
dreams  that  draw  round  us  with  the  shadows 
and  vanish  with  the  dawn. 

Achilles  Tatius,  in  the  fifth  century,  gave  in 
prose  the  substance  of  one  of  Sappho's  poems, 
not  otherwise  preserved.  It  may  be  called  "  The 
Song  of  the  Rose." 

"  If  Zeus  had  wished  to  appoint  a  sovereign 
over  the  flowers,  he  would  have  made  the  rose 
their  king.  It  is  the  ornament  of  the  earth, 
the  glory  of  plants,  the  eye  of  the  flowers,  the 
blush  of  the  meadows,  a  flash  of  beauty.  It 
breathes  of  love,  welcomes  Aphrodite,  adorns 
itself  with  fragrant  leaves,  and  is  decked  with 
tremulous  petals,  that  laugh  in  the  zephyr." 

1  'Effirtpa  &7rb  rov  fffea  Ttoittv  TT(pcii>  r«k  £&a,  K.  r.  \. 


194    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Indeed,  that  love  of  external  nature,  which 
is  so  often  mistakenly  said  to  have  been  want 
ing  among  the  Greeks,  is  strongly  marked  in 
Sappho.  She  observes  "  the  vernal  swallow  and 
the  melodious  nightingale,  Spring's  herald." 
"The  moon,"  she  elsewhere  says,  "was  at  the 
full,  and  they  [the  stars]  stood  round  her,  as 
round  an  altar."  And  again,  "  The  stars  around 
the  lovely  moon  withdraw  their  splendor  when, 
in  her  fulness,  she  most  illumines  earth." 

Of  herself  Sappho  speaks  but  little  in  the 
fragments  left  to  us.  In  one  place  she  asserts 
that  she  is  "  not  of  malignant  nature,  but  has 
a  placid  mind,"  and  again  that  her  desire  is  for 
"  a  mode  of  life  that  shall  be  elegant  and  at 
the  same  time  honest,"  the  first  wish  doing 
credit  to  her  taste,  and  the  other  to  her  con 
science.  In  several  places  she  confesses  to  a 
love  of  luxury,  yet  she  is  described  by  a  later 
Greek  author,  Aristides,  as  having  rebuked  cer 
tain  vain  and  showy  women  for  their  ostenta 
tion,  while  pointing  out  that  the  pursuits  of  in 
tellect  afford  a  surer  joy.  It  is  hardly  needful 
to  add  that  not  a  line  remains  of  her  writings 
which  can  be  charged  with  indelicacy;  and 
had  any  such  existed,  they  would  hardly  have 
passed  unnoticed  or  been  forgotten. 

It  is  odd  that  the  most  direct  report  left  to  us 
of  Sappho's  familiar  conversation  should  have 


SAPPHO  195 

enrolled  her  among  those  enemies  of  the  human 
race  who  give  out  conundrums.  Or  rather  it  is 
in  this  case  a  riddle  of  the  old  Greek  fashion, 
such  as  the  Sphinx  set  the  example  of  pro 
pounding  to  men,  before  devouring  them  in 
any  other  manner.  I  will  render  it  in  plain 
prose. 

SAPPHO'S  RIDDLE. 

There  is  a  feminine  creature  who  bears  in 
her  bosom  a  voiceless  brood ;  yet  they  send 
forth  a  clear  voice,  over  sea  and  land,  to  what 
soever  mortals  they  will ;  the  absent  hear  it ;  so 
do  the  deaf. 

This  is  the  riddle,  as  recorded  by  Antipha- 
nes,  and  preserved  by  Athenaeus.  It  appears 
that  somebody  tried  to  guess  it.  The  feminine 
creature,  he  thought,  was  the  state.  The  brood 
must  be  the  orators,  to  be  sure,  whose  voices 
reached  beyond  the  seas,  as  far  as  Asia  and 
Thrace,  and  brought  back  thence  something 
to  their  own  advantage ;  while  the  community 
sat  dumb  and  deaf  amid  their  railings.  This 
seemed  plausible,  but  somebody  else  objected 
to  the  solution ;  for  who  ever  knew  an  orator 
to  be  silent,  he  said,  until  he  was  put  down  by 
force  ?  All  which  sounds  quite  American  and 
modern  ;  but  he  gave  it  up,  at  last,  and  appealed 
to  Sappho,  who  thus  replied  :  — 


196    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

SAPPHO'S  SOLUTION. 

A  letter  is  a  thing  essentially  feminine  in  its 
character.  It  bears  a  brood  in  its  bosom  named 
the  alphabet.  They  are  voiceless,  yet  speak  to 
whom  they  will ;  and  if  any  man  shall  stand 
next  to  him  who  reads,  will  he  not  hear  ? 

It  is  not  an  exciting  species  of  wit.  Yet  this 
kind  of  riddle  was  in  immense  demand  in  Greek 
society,  and  "if  you  make  believe  very  hard, 
it 's  quite  nice."  But  it  seems  rather  a  pity 
that  this  memorial  of  Sappho  should  be  pre 
served,  while  her  solemn  hymns  and  her  Epi- 
thalamia,  or  marriage-songs,  which  were,  as  has 
been  said,  almost  the  first  Greek  effort  toward 
dramatic  poetry,  are  lost  to  us  forever. 

And  thus  we  might  go  on  through  the  litera 
ture  of  Greece,  peering  after  little  grains  of 
Sappho  among  the  rubbish  of  voluminous  au 
thors.  But  perhaps  these  specimens  are  enough. 
It  remains  to  say  that  the  name  of  Phaon,  who 
is  represented  by  Ovid  as  having  been  her  lover, 
is  not  once  mentioned  in  these  fragments,  and 
the  general  tendency  of  modern  criticism  is  to 
deny  his  existence.  Some  suppose  him  to  have 
been  a  merely  mythical  being,  based  upon  the 
supposed  loves  of  Aphrodite  and  Adonis,  who 
was  called  by  the  Greeks  Phaethon  or  Phaon. 


SAPPHO  197 

It  is  said  that  this  Phaon  was  a  ferryman  at 
Mitylene,  who  was  growing  old  and  ugly  till  he 
rowed  Aphrodite  in  his  boat,  and  then  refused 
payment ;  on  which  she  gave  him  for  recom 
pense  youth,  beauty,  and  Sappho.  This  was 
certainly,  "Take,  O  boatman,  thrice  thy  fee," 
as  in  Uhland's  ballad ;  but  the  Greek  passen 
gers  have  long  since  grown  as  shadowy  as  the 
German,  and  we  shall  never  know  whether  this 
oarsman  really  ferried  himself  into  the  favor  of 
goddess  or  of  dame.  It  is  of  little  consequence ; 
Sappho  doubtless  had  lovers,  and  one  of  them 
may  as  well  have  been  named  Phaon  as  any 
thing  else. 

But  to  lose  her  fabled  leap  from  the  Leuca- 
dian  promontory  would  doubtless  be  a  greater 
sacrifice  ;  it  formed  so  much  more  effective  a 
termination  for  her  life  than  any  novelist  could 
have  contrived.  It  is  certain  that  the  leap  it 
self,  as  a  Greek  practice,  was  no  fable ;  some 
times  it  was  a  form  of  suicide,  sometimes  a 
religious  incantation,  and  sometimes  again  an 
expiation  of  crime.  But  it  was  also  used  often 
as  a  figure  of  speech  by  comfortable  poets  who 
would  have  been  sorry  to  find  in  it  anything 
more.  Anacreon,  for  instance,  says  in  an  ode, 
"Again  casting  myself  from  the  Leucadian 
rock,  I  plunge  into  the  gray  sea,  drunk  with 
love ; "  though  it  is  clear  that  he  was  not  a 


198    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

man  to  drown  his  cares  in  anything  larger  than 
a  punch-bowl.  It  is  certainly  hard  to  suppose 
that  the  most  lovelorn  lady,  residing  on  an 
island  whose  every  shore  was  a  precipice,  and 
where  her  lover  was  at  hand  to  feel  the  anguish 
of  her  fate,  would  take  ship  and  sail  for  weary 
days  over  five  hundred  miles  of  water  to  seek 
a  more  sensational  rock.  Theodor  Kock,  the 
latest  German  writer  on  Sappho,  thinks  it  is 

as  if  a  lover  should  travel  from  the  Rhine  to 

• 

Niagara  to  drown  himself.  "Are  not  Abana 
and  Pharpar  rivers  of  Damascus  ? "  More 
solid,  negative  proof  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
Ptolemy  Hephaestion,  the  author  who  has  col 
lected  the  most  numerous  notices  of  the  Leu- 
cadian  leap,  entirely  omits  the  conspicuous 
name  of  Sappho  from  his  record.  Even  Colo 
nel  Mure,  who  is  as  anxious  to  prove  this  deed 
against  her  as  if  it  were  a  violation  of  all  the 
ten  commandments,  is  staggered  for  a  moment 
by  this  omission  ;  but  soon  recovering  himself, 
with  an  ingenuity  that  does  him  credit  as  attor 
ney  for  the  prosecution,  he  points  out  that  the 
reason  Ptolemy  omitted  Sappho's  name  was 
undoubtedly  because  it  was  so  well  known  al 
ready;  a  use  of  negative  evidence  to  which 
there  can  be  no  objection,  except  that  under  it 
any  one  of  us  might  be  convicted  of  having 
died  last  year,  on  the  plea  that  his  death  was 


SAPPHO  199 

a  fact  too  notorious  to  be  mentioned  in  the 
newspapers. 

But  whether  by  way  of  the  Leucadian  cliff 
or  otherwise,  Sappho  is  gone,  with  her  music 
and  her  pupils  and  most  of  the  words  she  wrote, 
and  the  very  city  where  she  dwelt,  and  all 
but  the  island  she  loved.  It  is  something  to  be 
able  to  record  that,  twenty-five  centuries  ago, 
in  that  remote  nook  among  the  Grecian  .Isles, 
a  woman's  genius  could  play  such  a  part  in 
moulding  the  great  literature  that  has  moulded 
the  world.  Colonel  Mure  thinks  that  a  hun 
dred  such  women  might  have  demoralized  all 
Greece.  But  it  grew  demoralized  at  any  rate  ; 
and  even  the  island  where  Sappho  taught  took 
its  share  in  the  degradation.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  view  taken  of  her  by  more  careful 
criticism  be  correct,  a  hundred  such  women 
might  have  done  much  to  save  it.  Modern 
nations  must  take  up  again  the  problem  where 
Athens  failed  and  Lesbos  only  pointed  the  way 
to  the  solution,  —  to  create  a  civilization  where 
the  highest  culture  shall  be  extended  to  woman 
also.  It  is  not  enough  that  we  should  dream, 
with  Plato,  of  a  republic  where  man  is  free  and 
woman  but  a  serf.  The  aspirations  of  modern 
life  culminate,  like  the  greatest  of  modern 
poems,  in  the  elevation  of  womanhood.  Das 
ewige  Weibliche  zieht  uns  hinan. 


ON  AN  OLD  LATIN  TEXT-BOOK 

I  REMEMBER  the  very  day  when  the  school 
master  gave  it  .to  me.  He  was  that  vigorous, 
rigorous,  kind-hearted,  thorough-bred  English 
man,  William  Wells.  It  was  the  beginning  of 
a  new  school-year.  Lowell  and  Story  and  the 
other  old  boys,  who  seemed  so  immeasurably 
ancient,  had  been  transferred  to  college ;  and 
last  year's  youngest  class  was  at  length  young 
est  but  one,  and  ready  for  the  "  New  Latin 
Tutor."  Then  Mr.  Wells  called  us  to  his  desk, 
and,  opening  it,  —  I  can  hear  the  very  rattle  of 
the  "birch"  as  it  rolled  back  from  the  uplifted 
lid,  —  he  brought  out  for  us  these  books,  in  all 
the  glory  of  fresh  calf  binding,  and  gave  each 
volume  into  trembling,  boyish  hands.  To  some 
of  us  there  was  always  more  of  birch  than  of 
bounty  in  the  immediate  associations  of  that 
desk,  and  I  fancy  that  we  always  trembled  a 
little  when  we  had  a  new  book,  as  if  all  the 
potential  floggings  which  it  might  involve  were 
already  tingling  between  its  covers.  Yet  those 
of  us  whose  love  of  the  book  was  wont  to  save 
us  from  the  rod  may  have  felt  the  thrill  of  de 
light  predominate ;  at  any  rate,  there  was 


ON   AN   OLD   LATIN  TEXT-BOOK      201 

novelty  and  "  the  joy  of  eventful  living  ;  "  and 
I  remember  that  the  rather  stern  and  aquiline 
face  of  our  teacher  relaxed  into  mildness  for 
a  moment.  Both  we  and  our  books  must  have 
looked  very  fresh  and  new  to  him,  though  we 
may  all  be  a  little  battered  now ;  at  least,  my 
"New  Latin  Tutor"  is.  The  change  under 
gone  by  the  volume  which  Browning  put  in 
the  plum-tree  cleft,  to  be  read  only  by  newts 
and  beetles,  —  . 

"  With  all  the  binding  all  of  a  blister, 
And  great  blue  spots  where  the  ink  has  run, 
And  reddish  streaks  that  wink  and  glister,"  — 

could  hardly  exceed  what  this  book  shows, 
when  I  fish  it  up  from  a  chest  of  literary  lum 
ber,  coeval  with  itself.  It  would  smell  musty, 
doubtless,  to  any  nose  unregulated  by  a  heart ; 
but  to  me  it  is  redolent  of  the  alder-blossoms  of 
boyish  springs,  and  the  aromatic  walnut  odor 
which  used  in  autumn  to  pervade  the  dells  of 
"  Sweet  Auburn,"  that  lay  not  so  very  far  from 
our  schoolhouse.  It  is  a  very  precious  book, 
and  it  should  be  robed  in  choice  Turkey  mo 
rocco,  were  not  the  very  covers  too  much  a  part 
of  the  association  to  be  changed.  For  between 
them  I  gathered  the  seed-grain  of  many  har 
vests  of  delight ;  through  this  low  archway  I 
first  looked  upon  the  immeasurable  beauty  of 
words. 


202    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

"Do  ye  hear,  or  does  an  amiable  madness 
seize  me  ?  I  seem  to  hear  her,  and  to  wander 
through  holy  groves,  where  the  pleasant  waters 
and  the  breezes  play."  Are  these  phrases 
really  so  delightful,  or  was  it  the  process  of  re- 
translation  into  Latin  that  so  fixed  them  in  my 
ear  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  they  first  taught  me 
what  language  was  meant  for ;  they  set  to 
music  the  wandering  breeze  and  the  running 
brook;  they  doubled  the  joy  that  these  things 
gave.  There  was  no  new  information  offered 
by  the  sentence  ;  I  had  long  known  that  the 
waters  were  pleasant,  and  had  an  instinct  that 
the  groves  were  holy ;  but  that  it  was  within 
the  power  of  words  to  reproduce  and  almost 
double  by  utterance  these  sweet  felicities,  this 
had  never  dawned  upon  me  till  these  "  exer 
cises  in  writing  Latin"  began.  This,  then, 
was  literature ! 

"  But  he,  yet  a  boy,  and  as  unobserved,  goes 
here  and  there  upon  the  lonely  green  ;  and  dips 
the  soles  of  his  feet,  then  up  to  the  ankle,  in 
the  playing  waters."  How  delicious  it  seemed 
in  the  English,  how  much  more  in  the  Latin ! 
What  liquid  words  were  these  :  aqua,  aura, 
^mda !  All  English  poetry  that  I  had  yet 
learned  by  heart  —  it  is  only  children  who  learn 
by  heart,  grown  people  "commit  to  memory" 
—  had  not  so  awakened  the  vision  of  what  lit- 


ON  AN   OLD   LATIN  TEXT-BOOK      203 

erature  might  mean.  Thenceforth  all  life  be 
came  ideal.  The  child  who  read  this  was  him 
self  that  boy  "  upon  the  lonely  green ; "  he  it 
was  who,  being  twelve  years  old,  could  just 
touch  the  tender  boughs  from  the  ground  :  — > 

"  Alter  ab  undecimo  turn  me  jam  ceperat  annus, 
Jam  fragiles  poteram  a  terra  contingere  ramos." 

Then  human  passion,  tender,  faithful,  immor 
tal,  came  also  by  and  beckoned.  " '  But  let  me 
die,'  she  said.  'Thus,  thus  it  delights  me  to 
go  under  the  shades."1  Or  that  infinite  ten 
derness,  the  stronger  even  for  its  opening  mod 
eration  of  utterance,  the  last  sigh  of  ^Eneas 
after  Dido,  — 

"  Nee  me  meminisse  pigebit  Elissam 
Dum  memor  ipse  mihi,  dum  spiritus  hos  regit  artus." 

Then  "  visionary  forms  "  gather  round  the  boy's 
head,  "  fluttering  about  in  wondrous  ways ;  he 
hears  various  sounds  and  enjoys  an  interview 
with  the  gods : "  — 

"  Multa  modis  simulacra  videt  volitantia  miris 
Et  varias  audit  voces,  fruiturque  Deorum 
Colloquio." 

Or,  with  more  definite  and  sublime  grandeur, 
the  vast  forms  of  Roman  statesmanship  appear : 
"To-day,  Romans,  you  behold  the  common 
wealth,  the  lives  of  you  all,  estates,  fortunes, 
wives,  and  children,  and  the  seat  of  this  most 
renowned  empire,  this  most  fortunate  and  most 


204     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

beautiful  city,  preserved  and  restored  to  you  by 
the  distinguished  love  of  the  immortal  gods, 
and  by  my  toils,  counsels,  and  dangers." 

What  great  thoughts  were  found  within  these 
pages,  what  a  Roman  vigor  was  in  these  max 
ims  !  "  It  is  Roman  to  do  and  to  suffer  bravely." 
"  It  is  sweet  and  glorious  to  die  for  one's  coun 
try."  "He  that  gives  himself  up  to  pleasure 
is  not  worthy  the  name  of  a  man."  "  It  is  the 
part  of  a  brave  and  unshaken  spirit  not  to  be 
disturbed  in  adverse  affairs."  "At  how  much 
is  virtue  to  be  estimated,  which  can  never  be 
taken  away  by  force,  nor  purloined ;  is  neither 
lost  by  shipwreck,  nor  by  fire,  nor  is  it  changed 
by  the  alterations  of  seasons  and  of  times." 
Then  came  the  tender  charities.  "  Compassion 
ate  such  grievous  afflictions,  compassionate 
a  soul  bearing  unmerited  treatment.'.'  There 
was  nothing  hard  or  stern  in  this  book,  no  cyni 
cism,  no  indifference ;  but  it  was  a  flower-garden 
of  lovely  outdoor  allusions,  a  gallery  of  great 
deeds  ;  and,  as  I  have  said,  it  formed  the  child's 
first  real  glimpse  into  the  kingdom  of  words. 

Could  not  the  same  literary  fascination,  the 
same  spell,  prophetic  of  future  joys,  have  been 
exerted  by  English  poetry  ?  Perhaps  so,  though 
just  the  same  quality  of  charm  had  never,  in 
my  case,  been  found  there.  But  what  fixed  it 
forever  in  the  mind  was  the  minute  and  detailed 


ON   AN   OLD   LATIN   TEXT-BOOK      205 

study  required  in  the  process  of  translation,  — 
the  balancing  of  epithets,  the  seeking  of  equiva 
lents.  Genius  doubtless  is  a  law  to  itself,  but 
for  ordinary  minds  the  delicate  shading  of  lan 
guage  must  be  discerned  by  careful  comparison 
of  words,  just  as  taste  in  dress  comes  to  women 
by  the  careful  matching  of  soft  tints.  It  takes 
two  languages  to  teach  us  the  resources  of  one. 
Montaigne,  who  taught  his  son  to  speak  Latin 
only,  left  him  as  uneducated  as  if  he  had  learned 
his  mother-tongue  alone. 

I  was  once  asked  by  a  doctor  of  divinity,  who 
was  also  the  overseer  of  a  college,  whether  I 
ever  knew  any  one  to  look  back  with  pleasure 
upon  his  early  studies  in  Latin  and  Greek.  It 
was  like  being  asked  if  one  looked  back  with 
pleasure  on  summer  mornings  and  evenings. 
No  doubt  those  languages,  like  all  others,  have 
fared  hard  at  the  hands  of  pedants ;  and  there 
are  active  boys  who  hate  all  study,  and  others 
who  love  the  natural  sciences  alone.  But  I 
remember  with  unspeakable  gratitude  that  I 
never  tasted  of  any  study  whatever  without 
hearty  enjoyment ;  nor  is  it  easy  to  see  how 
any  one  can  ever  feel  ennui  in  life  while  there 
is  a  language  or  a  science  left  to  learn.  Indeed, 
it  is  a  hasty  assumption,  that  the  majority  of 
boys  hate  Latin  and  Greek.  I  find  that  most 
college  graduates,  at  least,  retain  some  relish 


206    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

for  the  memory  of  such  studies,  even  if  they 
have  utterly  lost  the  power  to  masticate  or 
digest  them.  "  Though  they  speak  no  Greek, 
they  love  the  sound  on  't."  Many  a  respectable 
citizen  still  loves  to  look  at  his  Horace  or  Virgil 
on  the  shelf  where  it  has  stood  undisturbed  for 
a  dozen  years  ;  he  looks,  and  thinks  that  he  too 
lived  in  Arcadia.  He  recalls  his  college  dreams, 
and  walks,  and  talks,  and  the  debating  society, 
and  the  class  day.  He  murmurs  something  to 
himself  about  the  "  still  air  of  delightful  studies." 
The  books  link  him  with  culture,  and  universi 
ties,  and  the  traditions  of  great  scholars.  On 
some  stormy  Sunday,  he  thinks,  he  will  take 
them  down.  At  length  he  tries  it ;  he  handles 
the  volume  awkwardly,  as  he  does  his  infant ; 
but  it  is  something  to  be  able  to  say  that  neither 
book  nor  baby  has  been  actually  dropped.  He 
likes  to  know  that  there  is  a  tie  between  him 
and  each  of  these  possessions,  though  he  is 
willing,  it  must  be  owned,  to  leave  the  daily 
care  of  each  in  more  familiar  hands. 

But  even  if  he  only  hated  the  sight  of  his  old 
text-books,  what  would  it  prove  ?  Not  that  he 
was  unfit  for  their  study,  or  the  study  for  him, 
but  that  either  book  or  teacher  was  inadequate. 
It  is  not  the  child's  fault  if  all  this  region  of 
delight  be  haunted  by  ogres  called  grammari 
ans.  Where  "Andrews  and  Stoddard"  enter, 


ON  AN   OLD   LATIN  TEXT-BOOK      207 

it  is  inevitable  that  all  joys  should  flee ;  but 
why,  we  are  now  beginning  to  ask,  should  those 
extremely  prosaic  gentlemen  come  in  at  all  ? 
Accuracy  is  desirable,  and  doubtless  a  child 
should  learn  grammar,  but  the  terrible  book 
which  this  academical  firm  prepared  was  not  a 
grammar ;  it  was  an  encyclopaedia  of  philology 
in  small  print.  It  is  something  to  the  praise  of 
classical  studies  that  even  those  two  well-mean 
ing  men  did  not  extinguish  these  pursuits  for 
ever.  It  is  not  to  be  imputed  to  boys  as  a  crime, 
"that  they  do  not  love  the  conjugations  at  first 
sight,  or  conceive  a  passionate  attachment  for 
the  irregular  verbs."  In  the  days  when  this 
old  book  was  new,  a  little  manual  of  a  hundred 
pages,  prepared  by  William  Wells  himself,  con 
tained  all  that  was  held  needful  to  be  learned  of 
grammar ;  and  in  these  happy  modern  days  of 
Allen  and  of  Goodwin,  that  golden  age  returns. 
Any  child  can  bear  a  little  drudgery,  and  it  will 
do  him  good ;  it  is  the  amount  that  kills.  A 
boy  will  joyfully  wade  through  a  half-mile  of 
sand-hills  to  reach  the  sea ;  but  do  not  there 
fore  try  him  with  the  desert  of  Sahara.  When 
I  was  at  school,  the  path  did  not  lead  through 
the  desert ;  but  had  it  done  so,  this  old  text 
book  would  have  been  an  oasis. 

Yet  it  may  plausibly  be  said  that  what  charms 
the  child,  after  all,  is  the  grace  of  the  phrase, 


208     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

and  that  even  if  a  collection  of  good  English 
sentences  would  not  answer  as  well  (because  he 
is  not  forced  to  dwell  on  them  for  the  purpose 
of  translation),  yet  some  German  or  French 
phrase-book,  provided  it  were  not  Ollendorff, 
might  serve  the  purpose.  I  should  be  the  last 
person  to  deny  the  magic  that  may  also  dwell, 
for  young  people,  in  a  book  like  Miss  Austen's 
"  Selections  from  German  Prose  Writers,"  which 
at  a  later  period  I  almost  learned  by  heart.  But 
however  we  may  define  the  words  "classic  "  and 
"  romantic,"  it  will  be  found,  I  think,  however 
contrary  to  the  impression  of  many,  that  the 
child  is  naturally  a  classicist  first.  Emerson 
said  well,  "Every  healthy  boy  is  a  Greek;" 
while  his  powers  are  dawning  and  he  divides 
his  life  between  games  and  books,  he  prefers 
phrases  that,  while  they  touch  his  imagination, 
have  yet  a  certain  definite  quality.  A  Greek 
statue,  a  Latin  line,  reach  him  and  stay  with 
him ;  he  likes  them  as  he  likes  Scott,  for  the 
vivid  picture.  He  must  grow  a  little  older,  must 
look  before  and  after;  the  vague  sense  of  a 
dawning  destiny  must  begin  just  to  touch  him  ; 
he  must  gaze  into  a  maiden's  eyes,  and  begin 
to  write  long  reveries  in  his  journal,  and  fancy 
himself  "so  young,  yet  so  old,"  before  Germany 
can  fully  reach  him.  To  the  German  was  given 
"  the  powers  of  the  air,"  but  the  boy  dwells  on 


ON  AN   OLD   LATIN  TEXT-BOOK     209 

earth  ;  for  him  the  very  gods  must  be,  like 
those  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  men  and 
women.  He  is  poetic,  but  it  is  according  to  Mil 
ton's  definition,  "  simple,  sensuous,  passionate ; " 
the  boy's  poetry  is  classic,  it  is  the  youth  only 
who  is  romantic.  Give  him  time  enough,  and 
every  castle  on  the  Rhine  will  have  for  him  a 
dream,  and  every  lily  of  the  Mummelsee  an 
imprisoned  maiden  ;  but  his  earlier  faith  is  in 
the  more  definite  dramatis  persona  of  this  old 
text-book.  Wordsworth,  in  one  of  his  pro- 
foundest  poems,  "Tintern  Abbey,"  has  de 
scribed  the  difference  between  the  "glad  ani 
mal  movements  "  of  a  boy's  most  ardent  love  of 
nature,  and  the  more  meditative  enjoyment  of 
later  years ;  and  the  child  approaches  literature 
as  he  does  nature,  with  direct  and  vehement 
delight ;  the  wildest  romances  must  have  in 
some  sort  definite  outlines,  as  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  The  epoch  of  vague  dreams  will  come 
later  ;  up  to  the  age  of  thirteen  he  is  a  Roman 
or  a  Greek. 

I  must  honestly  say  that  much  of  the  modern 
outcry  against  classical  studies  seems  to  me  to 
be  (as  in  the  case  of  good  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow)  a 
frank  hostility  to  literature  itself,  as  the  sup 
posed  rival  of  science ;  or  a  willingness  (as  in 
Professor  W.  P.  Atkinson's  case)  to  tolerate 
modern  literature,  while  discouraging  the  study 


210     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

of  the  ancient.  Both  seem  to  commit  the  error 
of  drawing  their  examples  of  abuse  from  Eng 
land,  and  applying  their  warnings  to  America. 
Because  your  neighbor  on  one  side  is  dying  of 
a  plethora,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
withhold  bread  from  your  neighbor  on  the  other 
side,  who  is  dying  of  starvation.  Because  nine 
tenths  of  the  English  schoolboys  are  "  addled," 
according  to  Mr.  Farrar,  by  being  overworked 
in  Latin  verse-making,  must  we  transfer  the 
same  imputation  to  colleges  which  never  bur 
dened  the  conscience  of  a  pupil  with  a  single 
metrical  line  ?  Because  the  House  of  Commons 
was  once  said  to  care  more  for  a  false  quantity 
in  Latin  verse  than  in  English  morals,  shall  we 
visit  equal  indignation  on  a  House  of  Represent 
atives  that  had  to  send  for  a  classical  diction 
ary  to  find  out  who  Thersites  was  ?  Since  all 
the  leading  modern  languages  and  the  chief 
branches  of  natural  science  have  been  sedu 
lously  taught  in  our  American  colleges  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  why  keep  discoursing  on 
the  omissions  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  ?  Have 
we  then  no  sins  of  our  own,  that  we  must  tor 
ture  ourselves  in  vicarious  penance  for  the  whole 
of  Europe  ? 

Granted,  that  foreign  systems  of  education 
may  err  by  insisting  on  the  arts  of  literary  struc 
ture  too  much ;  think  what  we  should  lose  by 


ON   AN   OLD   LATIN   TEXT-BOOK      211 

dwelling  on  them  too  little !  The  magic  of 
mere  words ;  the  mission  of  language ;  the 
worth  of  form  as  well  as  of  matter ;  the  power 
to  make  a  common  thought  immortal  in  a  phrase, 
so  that  your  fancy  can  no  more  detach  the  one 
from  the  other  than  it  can  separate  the  soul  and 
body  of  a  child ;  —  it  was  the  veiled  half-revela 
tion  of  these  things  that  made  that  old  text-book 
forever  fragrant  to  me.  There  are  in  it  the 
still  visible  traces  of  wild  flowers  which  I  used 
to  press  between  the  pages,  on  the  way  to 
school ;  but  it  was  the  pressed  flowers  of  Latin 
poetry  that  were  embalmed  there  first.  These 
are  blossoms  that  do  not  fade.  Horace  was 
right  in  his  fond  imagination,  and  his  monument 
has  proved  more  permanent  than  any  bronze, 
are  perennius.  "  Wonderful  is  it  to  me,"  says 
Boccaccio,  in  Landor's  delicious  "  Pentameron," 
"when  I  consider  that  an  infirm  and  helpless 
creature,  such  as  I  am,  should  be  capable  of 
laying  thoughts  up  in  their  cabinet  of  words, 
which  Time,  as  he  moves  by,  with  the  revolu 
tions  of  stormy  and  eventful  years,  can  never 
move  from  their  places." 

One  must  bear  in  mind  the  tendencies  of  the 
time.  If  the  danger  were  impending  -of  an 
age  of  mere  literary  conceits,  every  one  should 
doubtless  contend  against  it ;  for  what  is  the  use 
of  polished  weapons,  where  there  is  no  ammu- 


212     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

nition?  But  the  current  tendency  is  all  the 
other  way,  —  to  distrust  all  literary  graces,  to 
denude  English  style  of  all  positive  beauty,  and 
leave  it  only  the  colorless  vehicle  of  thought. 
There  must  not  even  be  the  smoothness  of 
Queen  Anne's  day,  still  less  the  delicacy  of  the 
current  French  traditions ;  but  only  a  good, 
clear,  manly,  energetic,  insular  style,  as  if  each 
dwelt  on  an  island,  and  hailed  his  neighbor  each 
morning  in  good  chest  tones,  to  tell  him  the 
news.  It  is  the  farthest  possible  from  the  style 
of  a  poet  or  an  artist,  but  it  is  the  style  of  that 
ideal  man  for  whom  Huxley  longs,  "  whose  in 
tellect  is  a  clear,  cold  logic  engine,  with  all  its 
parts  of  equal  strength  and  in  smooth  working 
order,  ready,  like  a  steam  engine,  to  be  turned 
to  all  kinds  of  work."  In  Huxley  himself  this 
type  of  writing  is  seen  at  the  greatest  advan 
tage  ;  Froude  and  Seeley  have  much  the  same ; 
and  books  like  the  "  Essays  on  a  Liberal  Edu 
cation,"  put  together  by  a  dozen  different  Ox 
ford  and  Cambridge  men,  exhibit  but  one  style, 
—  a  style  that  goes  straight  to  the  mark  and 
will  stand  no  nonsense.  It  is  all  very  well,  so 
far,  and  this  is  doubtless  better  than  carving 
the  bow  till  it  breaks,  as  in  ^Esop's  fable ;  but 
is  there  not  room  in  the  world  for  both  science 
and  art,  for  use  and  beauty  ?  If  a  page  is  good 
that  tells  truth  plainly,  may  not  another  page 


ON  AN   OLD   LATIN   TEXT-BOOK     213 

have  merit  that  sets  truth  in  words  which  linger 
like  music  on  the  ear  ?  We  are  outgrowing  the 
foolish  fear  that 'science  is  taking  all  poetry  away 
from  the  facts  of  nature ;  but  why  should  it  set 
itself  against  the  poetry  of  words  ?  The  savants 
themselves  recognize  the  love  of  beauty  as  quite 
a  respectable  instinct,  when  it  appears  paleon- 
tologically.  When,  in  the  exploration  of  bone- 
caves,  they  find  that  some  primeval  personage 
carved  a  bird  or  a  beaver  upon  his  hatchet,  they 
are  all  in  ecstasies  and  say,  "  This  is  indeed  a 
discovery.  About  the  year  of  the  world  thirty- 
three  thousand,  art  was  born  !  "  But  if  art  took 
so  long  a  gestation,  is  it  not  worth  keeping 
alive,  now  that  we  have  got  it  ?  Why  is  it  that, 
when  all  these  added  centuries  have  passed,  the 
writer  must  now  take  the  style,  which  is  his 
weapon,  must  erase  from  it  all  attempt  at  beauty, 
and  demand  only  that,  like  the  barbaric  hatchet, 
it  shall  bring  down  its  man  ? 

In  America,  this  tendency  is  only  dawning  ; 
while  Emerson  is  read,  it  will  be  still  believed 
that  literature  means  form  as  well  as  matter. 
But  no  one  can  talk  with  the  pupils  of  our 
technological  schools,  without  seeing  that,  in 
surrendering  books  like  my  old  Latin  text-book, 
it  is,  in  fact,  literature  that  they  renounce. 
They  speak  as  impatiently  of  the  hours  wasted 
on  "  Paradise  Lost "  as  if  they  were  given  to 


214    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Plato.  Even  in  our  oldest  University,  the  de 
partment  of  "  Rhetoric  and  Oratory  "  came  so 
near  to  extinction  that  it  only  got  a  reprieve  on 
the  very  scaffold,  at  the  intercession  of  some 
of  the  older  graduates.  "  To  pursue  literature 
perse"  has  become  almost  a  badge  of  reproach 
in  quarters  where  what  is  sometimes  called 
"  the  new  education  "  prevails.  Now  there  is 
no  danger,  in  these  evolutionary  days,  that  any 
one  will  disregard  the  study  of  natural  science ; 
but  when  one  sees  how  desperately  it  some 
times  narrows  its  votaries,  one  admires  the  wit 
of  the  Newport  lady  who  said  the  other  day, 
when  taxed  with  one-sidedness  by  the  scientists, 
that  she  must,  after  all,  prefer  literature  per  se 
to  science  purblind. 

It  is  my  most  cherished  conviction  that  this 
Anglo-American  race  is  developing  a  finer  or 
ganization  than  the  stock  from  which  it  sprang, 
—  is  destined  to  be  more  sensitive  to  art,  as 
well  as  more  abundant  in  nervous  energy.  We 
must  not  narrow  ourselves  into  science  only, 
must  not  become  mere  observers  nor  mere 
thinkers,  but  must  hold  to  the  side  of  art  as 
well.  Grant  that  it  is  the  worthy  mission  of 
the  current  British  literature  to  render  style 
clear,  simple,  and  convincing,  it  may  yet  be  the 
mission  of  Americans  to  take  that  style  and 
make  it  beautiful. 


ON  AN   OLD   LATIN  TEXT-BOOK     215 

And  in  this  view  we  need,  above  all  things 
else,  to  retain  in  our  American  universities  all 
that  looks  toward  literature,  whether  based 
upon  the  study  of  the  modern,  or,  still  better, 
of  the  ancient  tongues.  I  do  not  mean  to  ad 
vocate  mere  pedantries,  such  as  the  Latin  pro 
grammes  on  Commencement  day,  or  the  Latin 
triennial  Catalogues  ;  but  I  mean  such  actual 
delights  in  the  study  of  language  as  my  old 
text-book  gave.  It  seems  almost  needless  to 
say  that  the  best  training  for  one  who  is  to  cre 
ate  beauty  must  be  to  accustom  him  to  dwell 
ing  on  that  which  is  beautiful ;  his  taste  once 
formed,  let  him  originate  what  he  can.  If  this 
can  be  done  by  modern  models  as  well  as  by 
ancient,  let  it  be  done ;  it  is  the  literary  cul 
ture,  as  such,  that  we  need.  Keats,  who  said 
of  himself,  "  I  dote  on  fine  phrases  like  a  lover," 
was  as  truly  engaged  in  literary  training  as  if 
he  had  been  making  Latin  verses  at  Oxford  ; 
very  likely  more  so  ;  but,  at  any  rate,  it  was 
not  science  that  he  studied.  It  is  for  literature, 
after  all,  that  I  plead  ;  not  for  this  or  that  body 
of  literature.  Welcoming  science,  I  only  depre 
cate  the  exclusive  adoption  of  the  scientific 
style. 

There  prevailed  for  a  long  time,  in  America, 
a  certain  superstition  about  collegiate  educa 
tion.  So  far  as  it  was  superstitious,  the  im- 


216    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

pression  was  foolish,  no  doubt ;  but  beneath  its 
folly,  the  tradition  of  pure  literature  was  kept 
alive.  It  appears  from  President  Dwight's 
"Travels,"  that,  until  about  the  year  1800,  our 
oldest  college  prescribed  Latin  verse-making  as 
a  condition  of  entrance.  He  also  says  that  at 
that  time  the  largest  library  in  America  held 
but  fifteen  thousand  volumes.  While  the  means 
of  research  were  so  limited,  there  was  plenty  of 
time  for  verse-making,  but  it  would  be  foolish 
to  insist  on  it  now.  Since  the  range  of  study 
is  so  much  widened,  the  best  course  seems  to 
be,  to  give  a  child  the  rudiments  of  various 
good  things,  and,  when  he  grows  older,  let  him 
choose  for  himself. 

Personally,  I  should  hold  with  Napoleon, 
that,  however  high  we  may  rank  the  scientific 
exploration  of  nature,  we  should  rank  literature 
higher  still,  as  bringing  us  nearer  to  the  human 
mind  itself.  "J'aime  les  sciences  mathema- 
tiques  et  physiques  ;  chacune  d'elles  est  une 
belle  application  partielle  de  1'esprit  humain ; 
mais  les  lettres,  c'est  1'esprit  humain  lui  meme  ; 
c'est  1' Education  de  1'ame."  But  since  the  nat 
ural  preferences  of  children  should  be  followed 
in  all  training,  not  set  at  defiance,  it  is  unneces 
sary  and  unwise  to  impose  the  same  order  of 
precedence  upon  all  minds.  There  is  really  a 
good  deal  of  time  in  childhood ;  even  young 


ON  AN   OLD   LATIN   TEXT-BOOK     217 

Americans  do  not  mature  so  instantaneously 
but  that  you  can  teach  them  something  before 
the  process  is  complete.  President  Eliot  says, 
"  There  have  been  many  good  college  students 
who  have  learned  in  two  years  all  the  Greek 
and  Latin  required  for  admission  into  Harvard 
College." 

I  am  satisfied,  from  observation  and  experi 
ment,  that  it  is  perfectly  practicable  so  to  bring 
up  an  average  boy  that  he  shall  be  a  good  rider, 
swimmer,  and  sailor  ;  shall  be  a  keen  field-natu 
ralist  ;  shall  know  the  use  of  tools  ;  shall  speak 
French  and  German  ;  shall  have  the  rudiments 
of  music  or  of  drawing ;  and  still  shall  be  fairly 
fitted  for  our  most  exacting  college  at  the  age 
of  sixteen.  If  so,  we  appear  to  have  within 
reach  the  beginning  of  a  tolerably  good  educa 
tion,  and  there  seems  no  reason  why  we  should 
sacrifice  literature  to  science,  or  science  to  liter 
ature.  We  must  simply  avoid  bigotry  in  either 
direction,  and  believe  that  children  are  as  natu 
rally  born  to  learn  as  to  eat,  if  we  can  only 
make  the  cookery  in  either  case  palatable. 

To  be  sure,  the  first  steps  in  book-learning 
are  not  all  enjoyment,  neither  are  the  first  steps 
in  learning  to  skate.  But,  if  the  sum  total 
affords  pleasure,  who  remembers  the  casualties 
and  mortifications  ?  No  doubt  there  were  anxie 
ties  and  pangs  enough  connected  with  this  poor 


2i8    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

old  text-book ;  but  through  memory's  kind 
chemistry  they  are  all  removed,  and  only  plea 
surable  thoughts  remain  behind.  Our  early 
recollections  are  like  water  in  a  cistern,  which 
in  time  throws  off  all  its  own  impurities  and 
grows  permanently  clear.  On  board  the  receiv 
ing-ship  at  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  they  give 
you  a  draught  from  a  tank  which  was  filled 
for  a  cruise  forty  years  ago,  and  has  never  been 
emptied ;  there  was  a  period  when  it  was  not 
fit  for  use,  but  it  is  no\y  as  sweet  as  if  drawn 
yesterday.  So,  in  reverting  to  one's  school 
experience,  the  impurities  and  coarseness  and 
tyrannies  disappear ;  but  you  remember  the 
morning  walk  to  the  schoolhouse  and  the  game 
of  football  at  recess-time,  and  the  panting  rest 
on  the  cool  grass  afterwards,  and  the  twittering 
fellowship  of  the  barn  swallows,  to  whom  it  was 
recess-time  all  day  long.  You  remember  the 
desk  at  which  you  sat,  with  its  notches  and  in 
scriptions,  and  the  pulley  contrived  to  hold  the 
lid  up,  —  the  invention  of  some  historic  pupil 
who  had  long  since  passed  away  to  the  univer 
sity,  and  now  seemed  as  grand  and  remote  as 
one  of  Virgil's  heroes.  And  with  these  recurs 
the  memory  of  the  "  New  Latin  Tutor,"  and 
the  excitement  of  the  novel  study,  and  the 
charm  of  the  Roman  cadence.  It  is  all  turned 
to  light  and  joy  and  an  eternal  spring  :  — 


ON   AN   OLD   LATIN  TEXT-BOOK      219 

"  Ver  erat  aeternum  ;  placidique  tepentibus  auris 
Mulcebant  zephyri  natos  sine  semine  flores." 

The  present  is  so  apt  to  disappoint  our  high 
anticipations,  I  do  not  know  what  would  become 
of  us  poor  fellows  if  memory  did  not  rival  hope 
as  a  flatterer,  making  the  past  as  golden  as  the 
future ;  so  that,  at  worst,  it  is  only  the  passing 
moment  that"  is  poor. 

The  thought  to  which  my  dear  old  Latin 
book  has  led  me  is  simply  this  :  that  while  we 
make  children  happy  by  teaching  them  the 
careful  observation  of  nature,  —  so  that  our  ed 
ucated  men  need  no  longer  be  "  naturalists  by 
accident,"  as  Professor  Owen  said  of  those  in 
England,  —  we  yet  should  give  to  the  same 
children  another  happiness  still,  by  such  first 
glimpses  of  literary  pleasure  as  this  book  af 
forded.  A  race  of  exclusively  scientific  men 
and  women  would  be  as  great  an  evil  as  would 
be  a  race  trained  only  in  what  Sydney  Smith 
calls  "  the  safe  and  elegant  imbecility  of  clas 
sical  learning."  We  can  spare  the  Louvre  and 
the  Vatican,  we  can  spare  Paestum  and  the 
Pyramids,  as  easily  as  we  can  spare  the  purely 
literary  culture  from  the  world. 


AMERICANISM   IN  LITERATURE 

THE  voyager  from  Europe  who  lands  upon 
our  shores  perceives  a  difference  in  the  sky 
above  his  head ;  the  height  seems  loftier,  the 
zenith  more  remote,  the  horizon-wall  more 
steep  ;  the  moon  appears  to  hang  in  middle  air, 
beneath  a  dome  that  arches  far  beyond  it.  The 
sense  of  natural  symbolism  is  so  strong  in  us 
that  the  mind  seeks  a  spiritual  significance  in 
this  glory  of  the  atmosphere.  It  is  not  enough 
to  find  the  sky  enlarged,  and  not  the  mind,  — 
coelum,  non  animum.  One  wishes  to  be  con 
vinced  that  here  the  intellectual  man  inhales 
a  deeper  breath,  and  walks  with  bolder  tread  ; 
that  philosopher  and  artist  are  here  more  buoy 
ant,  more  fresh,  more  fertile ;  that  the  human 
race  has  here  escaped  at  one  bound  from  the 
despondency  of  ages,  as  from  their  wrongs. 

Now  the  true  and  healthy  Americanism  is  to 
be  found,  let  us  believe,  in  this  attitude  of  hope ; 
an  attitude  not  necessarily  connected  with  cul 
ture  nor  with  the  absence  of  culture,  but  with 
the  consciousness  of  a  new  impulse  given  to  all 
human  progress.  The  most  ignorant  man  may 
feel  the  full  strength  and  heartiness  of  the 


American  idea,  and  so  may  the  most  accom 
plished  scholar.  It  is  a  matter  of  regret  if  thus 
far  we  have  mainly  had  to  look  for  our  Ameri 
canism  and  our  scholarship  in  very  different 
quarters,  and  if  it  has  been  a  rare  delight  to 
find  the  two  in  one. 

It  seems  unspeakably  important  that  all  per 
sons  among  us,  and  especially  the  student  and 
the  writer,  should  be  pervaded  with  American 
ism.  Americanism  includes  the  faith  that  na 
tional  self-government  is  not  a  chimera,  but 
that,  with  whatever  inconsistencies  and  draw 
backs,  we  are  steadily  establishing  it  here.  It 
includes  the  faith  that  to  this  good  thing  all 
other  good  things  must  in  time  be  added. 
When  a  man  is  heartily  imbued  with  such  a 
national  sentiment  as  this,  it  is  as  marrow  in 
his  bones  and  blood  in  his  veins.  He  may  still 
need  culture,  but  he  has  the  basis  of  all  culture. 
He  is  entitled  to  an  imperturbable  patience  and 
hopefulness,  born  of  a  living  faith.  All  that  is 
scanty  in  our  intellectual  attainments,  or  poor 
in  our  artistic  life,  may  then  be  cheerfully  en 
dured  :  if  a  man  sees  his  house  steadily  rising 
on  sure  foundations,  he  can  wait  or  let  his  chil 
dren  wait  for  the  cornice  and  the  frieze.  But 
if  one  happens  to  be  born  or  bred  in  America 
without  this  wholesome  confidence,  there  is  no 
happiness  for  him;  he  has  his  alternative  be- 


222    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

tween  being  unhappy  at  home  and  unhappy 
abroad ;  it  is  a  choice  of  martyrdoms  for  him- 
se'lf,  and  a  certainty  of  martyrdom  for  his 
friends. 

Happily  there  are  few  among  our  cultivated 
men  in  whom  this  oxygen  of  American  life  is 
wholly  wanting.  Where  such  exist,  for  them 
the  path  across  the  ocean  is  easy,  and  the 
return  how  hard !  Yet  our  national  character 
develops  slowly ;  we  are  aiming  at  something 
better  than  our  English  fathers,  and  we  pay  for 
it  by  greater  vacillations  and  vibrations  of  move 
ment.  The  Englishman's  strong  point  is  a 
vigorous  insularity  which  he  carries  with  him, 
portable  and  sometimes  insupportable.  The 
American's  more  perilous  gift  is  a  certain  power 
of  assimilation,  so  that  he  acquires  something 
from  every  man  he  meets,  but  runs  the  risk  of 
parting  with  something  in  return.  For  the 
result,  greater  possibilities  of  culture,  balanced 
by  greater  extremes  of  sycophancy  and  mean 
ness.  Emerson  says  that  the  Englishman  of 
all  men  stands  most  firmly  on  his  feet.  But  it 
is  not  the  whole  of  man's  mission  to  be  found 
standing,  even  at  the  most  important  post.  Let 
him  take  one  step  forward,  —  and  in  that  ad 
vancing  figure  you  have  the  American. 

We  are  accustomed  to  say  that  the  great  Civil 
War  and  its  results  made  us  a  nation,  Subordi- 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       223 

nated  local  distinctions,  cleared  us  of  our  chief 
shame,  and  gave  us  the  pride  of  a  common 
career.  This  being  the  case,  we  may  afford  to 
treat  ourselves  to  a  little  modest  self-confidence. 
Those  whose  faith  in  the  American  people  car 
ried  them  hopefully  through  the  long  contest 
with  slavery  will  not  be  daunted  before  any 
minor  perplexities  of  Chinese  immigrants  or 
railway  brigands  or  enfranchised  women.  We 
are  equal  to  these  things ;  and  we  shall  also  be 
equal  to  the  creation  of  a  literature.  We  need 
intellectual  culture  inexpressibly,  but  we  need  a 
hearty  faith  still  more.  "  Never  yet  was  there 
a  great  migration  that  did  not  result  in  a  new 
form  of  national  genius."  But  we  must  guard 
against  both  croakers  and  boasters  ;  and,  above 
all,  we  must  look  beyond  our  little  Boston  or 
New  York  or  Chicago  or  San  Francisco,  and 
be  willing  citizens  of  the  great  Republic. 

The  highest  aim  of  most  of  our  literary  jour 
nals  has  thus  far  been  to  appear  English,  except 
where  some  diverging  experimentalist  has  said, 
"  Let  us  be  German,"  or  "  Let  us  be  French." 
This  was  inevitable ;  as  inevitable  as  a  boy's 
first  imitations  of;  Byron  or  Tennyson.  But  it 
necessarily  implied  that  our  literature  must, 
during  this  epoch,  be  second-rate.  We  need 
to  become  national,  not  by  any  conscious  effort, 
such  as  implies  attitudinizing  and  constraint, 


224    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

but  by  simply  accepting  our  own  life.  It  is 
not  desirable  to  go  out  of  one's  way  to  be  origi 
nal,  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  may  lie  in  one's 
way.  Originality  is  simply  a  fresh  pair  of  eyes. 
If  you  want  to  astonish  the  whole  world,  said 
Rahel,  tell  the  simple  truth.  It  is  easier  to 
excuse  a  thousand  defects  in  the  literary  man 
who  proceeds  on  this  faith,  than  to  forgive  the 
one  great  defect  of  imitation  in  the  purist  who 
seeks  only  to  be  English.  As  Wasson  has 
said,  "  The  Englishman  is  undoubtedly  a  whole 
some  figure  to  the  mental  eye;  but  will  not 
twenty  million  copies  of  him  do,  for  the  pre 
sent  ? "  We  must  pardon  something  to  the 
spirit  of  liberty.  We  must  run  some  risks,  as 
all  immature  creatures  do,  in  the  effort  to  use 
our  own  limbs.  College  professors  say  that  it 
is  a  bad  sign  for  a  college  boy  to  write  too 
well ;  there  should  be  exuberances  and  inequali 
ties.  A  nation  which  has  but  just  begun  to 
create  a  literature  must  sow  some  wild  oats. 
The  most  tiresome  vaingloriousness  may  be 
more  hopeful  than  hypercriticism  and  spleen. 
The  follies  of  the  absurdest  spread-eagle  orator 
may  be  far  more  promising,  because  they  smack 
more  of  the  soil,  than  the  neat  Londonism  of 
the  city  editor  who  dissects  him. 

It  is  but  a  few  years  since  we  have  dared  to 
be  American  in  even  the  details  and  accessories 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       225 

of  our  literary  work ;  to  make  our  allusions  to 
natural  objects  real,  not  conventional ;  to  ignore 
the  nightingale  and  skylark,  and  look  for  the 
classic  and  romantic  on  our  own  soil.  This 
change  began  mainly  with  Emerson.  Some  of 
us  can  recall  the  bewilderment  with  which  his 
verses  on  the  humblebee,  for  instance,  were 
received,  when  the  choice  of  subject  caused  as 
much  wonder  as  the  treatment.  It  was  called 
"a  foolish  affectation  of  the  familiar."  Happily 
the  atmosphere  of  distance  forms  itself  rapidly 
in  a  new  land,  and  the  poem  has  now  as  serene 
a  place  in  literature  as  if  Andrew  Marvell  had 
written  it.  The  truly  cosmopolitan  writer  is 
not  he  who  carefully  denudes  his  work  of  every 
thing  occasional  and  temporary,  but  he  who 
makes  his  local  coloring  forever  classic  through 
the  fascination  of  the  dream  it  tells.  Reason, 
imagination,  passion,  are  universal ;  but  sky, 
climate,  costume,  and  even  type  of  human  char 
acter,  belong  to  some  one  spot  alone  till  they 
find  an  artist  potent  enough  to  stamp  their  as 
sociations  on  the  memory  of  all  the  world. 
Whether  his  work  be  picture  or  symphony, 
legend  or  lyric,  is  of  little  moment.  The  spirit 
of  the  execution  is  all  in  all. 

As  yet,  we  Americans  have  hardly  begun  to 
think  of  the  details  of  execution  in  any  art. 
We  do  not  aim  at  perfection  of  detail  even  in 


226    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

engineering,  much  less  in  literature.  In  the 
haste  of  our  national  life,  most  of  our  intellec 
tual  work  is  done  at  a  rush,  is  something  in 
serted  in  the  odd  moments  of  the  engrossing 
pursuit.  The  popular  preacher  becomes  a 
novelist ;  the  editor  turns  his  paste-pot  and  scis 
sors  to  the  compilation  of  a  history  ;  the  same 
man  must  be  poet,  wit,  philanthropist,  and  gene 
alogist.  We  find  a  sort  of  pleasure  in  seeing 
this  variety  of  effort,  just  as  the  bystanders  like 
to  see  a  street-musician  adjust  every  joint  in 
his  body  to  a  separate  instrument,  and  play  a 
concerted  piece  with  the  whole  of  himself.  To 
be  sure,  he  plays  each  part  badly,  but  it  is  such 
a  wonder  he  should  play  them  all !  Thus,  in 
our  rather  hurried  and  helter-skelter  training, 
the  man  is  brilliant,  perhaps ;  his  main  work  is 
well  done ;  but  his  secondary  work  is  slurred. 
The  book  sells,  no  doubt,  by  reason  of  the  au 
thor's  popularity  in  other  fields ;  it  is  only  the 
tone  of  our  national  literature  that  suffers. 
There  is  nothing  in  American  life  that  can 
make  concentration  cease  to  be  a  virtue.  Let 
a  man  choose  his  pursuit,  and  make  all  else 
count  for  recreation  only.  Goethe's  advice  to 
Eckermann  is  infinitely  more  important  here 
than  it  ever  was  in  Germany  :  "  Beware  of  dis 
sipating  your  powers  ;  strive  constantly  to  con 
centrate  them.  Genius  thinks  it  can  do  what- 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       227 

ever  it  sees  others  doing,  but  it  is  sure  to  repent 
of  every  ill-judged  outlay." 

In  one  respect,  however,  this  desultory  ac 
tivity  is  an  advantage  :  it  makes  men  look  in  a 
variety  of  directions  for  a  standard.  As  each 
sect  in  religion  helps  to  protect  us  from  some 
other  sect,  so  every  mental  tendency  is  the 
limitation  of  some  other.  We  need  the  Eng 
lish  culture,  but  we  do  not  need  it  more  evi 
dently  than  we  need  the  German,  the  French, 
the  Greek,  the  Oriental.  In  prose  literature, 
for  instance,  the  English  contemporary  models 
are  not  enough.  There  is  an  admirable  vigor 
and  heartiness,  a  direct  and  manly  tone  ;  King 
Richard  still  lives ;  but  Saladin  also  had  his 
fine  sword-play ;  let  us  see  him.  There  are  the 
delightful  French  qualities,  —  the  atmosphere 
where  literary  art  means  fineness  of  touch. 
"Ou  il  n'y  a  point  de  delicatesse,  il  n'y  a  point 
de  littdrature.  Un  ecrit  ou  ne  se  rencontrent 
que  de  la  force  et  un  certain  feu  sans  e'clat 
n'annonce  que  le  caractere."  But  there  is  some 
thing  in  the  English  climate  which  seems  to 
turn  the  fine  edge  of  any  very  choice  scimitar 
till  it  cuts  Saladin's  own  fingers  at  last. 

God  forbid  that  I  should  disparage  this  broad 
Anglo-Saxon  manhood  which  is  the  basis  of  our 
national  life.  I  knew  an  American  mother  who 
sent  her  boy  to  Rugby  School  in  England,  in 


228     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  certainty,  as  she  said,  that  he  would  there 
learn  two  things,  —  to  play  cricket  and  to  speak 
the  truth.  .He  acquired  both  thoroughly,  and 
she  brought  him  home  for  what  she  deemed, 
in  comparison,  the  ornamental  branches.  We 
cannot  spare  the  Englishman  from  our  blood, 
but  it  is  our  business  to  make  him  more  than 
an  Englishman.  That  iron  must  become  steel ; 
finer,  harder,  more  elastic,  more  polished.  For 
this  end  the  English  stock  was  transferred 
from  an  island  to  a  continent,  and  mixed  with 
new  ingredients,  that  it  might  lose  its  quality 
of  coarseness,  and  take  a  more  delicate  grain. 

As  yet,  it  must  be  owned,  this  daring  expec 
tation  is  but  feebly  reflected  in  our  books.  In 
looking  over  any  collection  of  American  poetry, 
for  instance,  one  is  struck  with  the  fact  that  it 
is  not  so  much  faulty  as  inadequate.  Emerson 
set  free  the  poetic  intuition  of  America,  Haw 
thorne  its  imagination.  Both  looked  into  the 
realm  of  passion,  Emerson  with  distrust,  Haw 
thorne  with  eager  interest ;  but  neither  thrilled 
with  its  spell,  and  the  American  poet  of  passion 
is  yet  to  come.  How  tame  and  manageable 
are  wont  to  be  the  emotions  of  our  bards,  how 
placid  and  literary  their  allusions  !  There  is 
no  baptism  of  fire  ;  no  heat  that  breeds  excess. 
Yet  it  is  not  life  that  is  grown  dull,  surely ; 
there  are  as  many  secrets  in  every  heart,  as 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       229 

many  skeletons  in  every  closet,  as  in  any  elder 
period  of  the  world's  career.  It  is  the  inter 
preters  of  life  who  are  found  wanting,  and  that 
not  on  this  soil  alone,  but  throughout  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race.  It  is  not  just  to  say,  as 
some  one  has  said,  that  our  language  has  not 
in  this  generation  produced  a  love-song,  for  it 
has  produced  Browning  ;  but  was  it  in  England 
or  in  Italy  that  he  learned  to  sound  the  depths 
of  all  human  emotion  ? 

And  it  is  not  to  verse  alone  that  this  tempo 
rary  check  of  ardor  applies.  It  is  often  said 
that  prose  fiction  now  occupies  the  place  held 
by  the  drama  during  the  Elizabethan  age.  Cer 
tainly  this  modern  product  shows  something  of 
the  brilliant  profusion  of  that  wondrous  flower 
ing  of  genius  ;  but  here  the  resemblance  ends. 
Where  in  our  imaginative  literature  does  one 
find  the  concentrated  utterance,  the  intense 
and  breathing  life,  the  triumphs  and  despairs, 
the  depth  of  emotion,  the  tragedy,  the  thrill, 
that  meet  one  everywhere  in  those  Elizabethan 
pages  ?  What  impetuous  and  commanding 
men  are  these,  what  passionate  women  ;  how 
they  love  and  hate,  struggle  and  endure ; 
how  they  play  with  the  world  ;  what  a  trail  of 
fire  they  leave  behind  them  as  they  pass  by  I 
Turn  now  to  modern  fiction.  Dickens's  people 
are  amusing  and  lovable,  no  doubt ;  Thackeray's 


230    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

are  wicked  and  witty ;  but  how  undersized  they 
look,  and  how  they  loiter  on  the  mere  surfaces 
of  life,  compared,  I  will  not  say  with  Shake 
speare's,  but  even  with  Chapman's  and  Web 
ster's  men.  Set  aside  Hawthorne  in  America, 
with  perhaps  Charlotte  Bronte  and  George 
Eliot  in  England,  and  there  would  scarcely  be 
a  fact  in  prose  literature  to  show  that  we  mod 
ern  Anglo-Saxons  regard  a  profound  human 
emotion  as  a  thing  worth  the  painting.  Who 
now  dares  delineate  a  lover,  except  with  good- 
natured,  pitying  sarcasm,  as  in  "  David  Copper- 
field  "  or  "  Pendennis  "  ?  In  the  Elizabethan 
period,  with  all  its  unspeakable  coarseness,  hot 
blood  still  ran  in  the  veins  of  literature  ;  lovers 
burned  and  suffered  and  were  men.  And  what 
was  true  of  love  was  true  of  all  the  passions  of 
the  human  soul. 

In  this  respect,  as  in  many  others,  France 
has  preserved  more  of  the  artistic  tradition. 
The  common  criticism,  however,  is,  that  in  mod 
ern  French  literature,  as  in  the  Elizabethan, 
the  play  of  feeling  is  too  naked  and  obvious, 
and  that  the  Puritan  self-restraint  is  worth 
more  than  all  that  dissolute  wealth.  I  believe 
it ;  and  here  comes  in  the  intellectual  worth 
of  America.  Puritanism  was  a  phase,  a  disci 
pline,  a  hygiene ;  but  we  cannot  remain  always 
Puritans.  The  world  needed  that  moral  bra- 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       231 

cing,  even  for  its  art ;  but,  after  all,  life  is  not 
impoverished  by  being  ennobled ;  and  in  a 
happier  age,  with  a  larger  faith,  we  may  again 
enrich  ourselves  with  poetry  and  passion,  while 
wearing  that  heroic  girdle  still  around  us. 
Then  the  next  blossoming  of  the  world's  im 
agination  need  not  bear  within  itself,  like  all  the 
others,  the  seeds  of  an  epoch  of  decay. 

I  utterly  reject  the  position  taken  by  Mat 
thew  Arnold,  that  the  Puritan  spirit  in  America 
was  essentially  hostile  to  literature  and  art.  Of 
course  the  forest  pioneer  cannot  compose  or 
chestral  symphonies,  nor  the  founder  of  a  state 
carve  statues.  But  the  thoughtful  and  scholarly 
men  who  created  the  Massachusetts  Colony 
brought  with  them  the  traditions  of  their  uni 
versities,  and  left  these  embodied  in  a  college. 
The  Puritan  life  was  only  historically  inconsist 
ent  with  culture  ;  there  was  no  logical  antago 
nism.  Indeed,  that  life  had  in  it  much  that 
was  congenial  to  art,  in  its  enthusiasm  and  its 
truthfulness.  Take  these  Puritan  traits,  employ 
them  in  a  more  genial  sphere,  add  intellectual 
training  and  a  sunny  faith,  and  you  have  a  soil 
suited  to  art  above  all  others.  To  deny  it  is  to 
see  in  art  only  something  frivolous  and  insin 
cere.  The  American  writer  in  whom  the  artis 
tic  instinct  was  strongest  came  of  unmixed 
Puritan  stock.  Major  John  Hathorne,  in  1692, 


232     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

put  his  offenders  on  trial,  and  generally  con 
victed  and  hanged  them  all.  Nathaniel  Haw 
thorne  held  his  more  spiritual  tribunal  two  cen 
turies  later,  and  his  keener  scrutiny  found  some 
ground  of  vindication  for  each  one.  The  fidel 
ity,  the  thoroughness,  the  conscientious  pur 
pose,  were  the  same  in  each.  Both  sought  to 
rest  their  work,  as  all  art  and  all  law  must  rest, 
upon  the  absolute  truth.  The  writer  kept,  no 
doubt,  something  of  the  sombreness  of  the  ma 
gistrate  ;  each,  doubtless,  suffered  in  the  woes 
he  studied ;  and  as  the  one  "had  a  knot  of  pain 
in  his  forehead  all  winter"  while  meditating  the 
doom  of  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  so  may  the  other 
have  borne  upon  his  own  brow  the  trace  of 
Martha  Corey's  grief. 

No,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  the  obstacle 
to  a  new  birth  of  literature  and  art  in  America 
lies  in  the  Puritan  tradition,  but  rather  in  the 
timid  and  faithless  spirit  that  lurks  in  the  circles 
of  culture,  and  still  holds  something  of  literary 
and  academic  leadership  in  the  homes  of  the 
Puritans.  What  are  the  ghosts  of  a  myriad 
Blue  Laws  compared  with  the  transplanted 
cynicism  of  one  "  Saturday  Review  ? "  How  can 
any  noble  literature  germinate  where  young 
men  are  habitually  taught  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  originality,  and  that  nothing  remains 
for  us  in  this  effete  epoch  of  history  but  the 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       233 

mere  recombining  of  thoughts  which  sprang 
first  from  braver  brains  ?  It  is  melancholy  to  see 
young  men  come  forth  from  the  college  walls 
with  less  enthusiasm  than  they  carried  in ; 
trained  in  a  spirit  which  is  in  this  respect  worse 
than  English  toryism,  —  that  it  does  not  even 
retain  a  hearty  faith  in  the  past.  It  is  better 
that  a  man  should  have  eyes  in  the  back  of  his 
head  than  that  he  should  be  taught  to  sneer  at 
even  a  retrospective  vision.  One  may  believe 
that  the  golden  age  is  behind  us  or  before  us, 
but  alas  for  the  forlorn  wisdom  of  him  who  re 
jects  it  altogether!  It  is  not  the  climax  of 
culture  that  a  college  graduate  should  emulate 
the  obituary  praise  bestowed  by  Cotton  Mather 
on  the  Rev.  John  Mitchell  of  Cambridge,  "a 
truly  aged  young  man."  Better  a  thousand 
times  train  a  boy  on  Scott's  novels  or  the  Bor 
der  Ballads  than  educate  him  to  believe,  on  the 
one  side,  that  chivalry  was  a  cheat  and  the 
troubadours  imbeciles,  and  on  the  other  hand, 
that  universal  suffrage  is  an  absurdity  and  the 
one  real  need  is  to  get  rid  of  our  voters.  A 
great  crisis  like  a  civil  war  brings  men  tempo 
rarily  to  their  senses,  and  the  young  resume 
the  attitude  natural  to  their  years,  in  spite  of 
their  teachers  ;  but  it  is  a  sad  thing  when,  in 
seeking  for  the  generous  impulses  of  youth,  we 
have  to  turn  from  the  public  sentiment  of  the 


234    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

colleges   to   that   of  the   workshops   and    the 
farms. 

It  is  a  thing  not  to  be  forgotten,  that  for  a 
long  series  of  years  the  people  of  our  Northern 
States  were  habitually  in  advance  of  their  insti 
tutions  of  learning,  in  courage  and  comprehen 
siveness  of  thought.  There  were  long  years 
during  which  the  most  cultivated  scholar,  so 
soon  as  he  embraced  an  unpopular  opinion,  was 
apt  to  find  the  college  doors  closed  against  him, 
and  only  the  country  lyceum  —  the  people's 
college  —  left  open.  Slavery  had  to  be  abol 
ished  before  the  most  accomplished  orator  of 
the  nation  could  be  invited  to  address  the  grad 
uates  of  his  own  university.  The  first  among 
American  scholars  was  nominated  year  after 
year,  only  to  be  rejected,  before  the  academic  so 
cieties  of  his  own  neighborhood.  Yet  during  all 
that  time  the  rural  lecture  associations  showered 
their  invitations  on  Parker  and  Phillips  ;  culture 
shunned  them,  but  the  common  people  heard 
them  gladly.  The  home  of  real  thought  was 
outside,  not  inside,  the  college  walls.  It  hardly 
embarrassed  a  professor's  position  if  he  de 
fended  slavery  as  a  divine  institution ;  but  he 
risked  his  place  if  he  denounced  the  wrong.  In 
those  days,  if  by  any  chance  a  man  of  bold 
opinions  drifted  into  a  reputable  professorship, 
we  listened  sadly  to  hear  his  voice  grow  faint. 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       235 

He  usually  began  to  lose  his  faith,  his  courage, 
his  toleration,  —  in  short,  his  Americanism,  — 
when  he  left  the  ranks  of  the  uninstructed. 

That  time  is  past ;  and  the  literary  class  has 
now  come  more  into  sympathy  with  the  popular 
heart.  It  is  perhaps  fortunate  that  there  is  as 
yet  but  little  esprit  de  corps  among  our  writers, 
so  that  they  receive  their  best  sympathy,  not 
from  each  other,  but  from  the  people.  Even 
the  memory  of  our  most  original  authors,  as 
Thoreau  or  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli,  is  apt  to 
receive  its  sharpest  stabs  from  those  of  the 
same  guild.  When  we  American  writers  find 
grace  to  do  our  best,  it  is  not  so  much  because 
we  are  sustained  by  each  other,  as  that  we  are 
conscious  of  a  deep  popular  heart,  slowly  but 
surely  answering  back  to  ours,  and  offering  a 
worthier  stimulus  than  the  applause  of  a  coterie. 
If  we  once  lose  faith  in  our  audience,  the  muse 
grows  silent.  Even  the  apparent  indifference 
of  this  audience  to  culture  and  high  finish  may 
be  in  the  end  a  wholesome  influence,  recalling 
us  to  those  more  important  things,  compared  to 
which  these  are  secondary  qualities.  The  in 
difference  is  only  comparative ;  our  public  pre 
fers  good  writing,  as  it  prefers  good  elocution  ; 
but  it  values  energy,  heartiness,  and  action 
more.  The  public  is  right ;  it  is  the  business 
of  the  writer,  as  of  the  speaker,  to  perfect  the 


236    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

finer  graces  without  sacrificing  things  more 
vital.  "  She  was  not  a  good  singer,"  says  some 
novelist  of  his  heroine,  "but  she  sang  with 
an  inspiration  such  as  good  singers  rarely  in 
dulge  in."  Given  those  positive  qualities,  and 
I  think  that  a  fine  execution  does  not  hinder 
acceptance  in  America,  but  rather  aids  it. 
Where  there  is  beauty  of  execution  alone,  a 
popular  audience,  even  in  America,  very  easily 
goes  to  sleep.  And  in  such  matters,  as  the 
French  actor,  Samson,  said  to  the  young  dra 
matist,  "sleep  is  an  opinion." 

It  takes  more  than  grammars  and  dictiona 
ries  to  make  a  literature.  "  It  is  the  spirit  in 
which  we  act  that  is  the  great  matter,"  Goethe 
says.  "  Der  Geist  aus  dem  wir  handeln  ist  das 
Hochste."  Technical  training  may  give  the 
negative  merits  of  style,  as  an  elocutionist  may 
help  a  public  speaker  by  ridding  him  of  tricks. 
But  the  positive  force  of  writing  or  of  speech 
must  come  from  positive  sources,  ardor,  energy, 
depth  of  feeling  or  of  thought.  No  instruction 
ever  gave  these,  only  the  inspiration  of  a  great 
soul,  a  great  need,  or  a  great  people.  We  all 
know  that  a  vast  deal  of  oxygen  may  go  into  the 
style  of  a  man  ;  we  see  in  it  not  merely  what 
books  he  has  read,  what  company  he  has  kept, 
but  also  the  food  he  eats,  the  exercise  he  takes, 
the  air  he  breathes.  And  so  there  is  oxygen  in 


AMERICANISM  IN  LITERATURE       237 

the  collective  literature  of  a  nation,  and  this  vital 
element  proceeds,  above  all  else,  from  liberty. 
For  want  of  this  wholesome  oxygen,  the  voice 
of  Victor  Hugo  comes  to  us  uncertain  and  spas 
modic,  as  of  one  in  an  alien  atmosphere  where 
breath  is  pain ;  for  want  of  it,  the  eloquent 
English  tones  that  at  first  sounded  so  clear  and 
bell-like  now  reach  us  only  faint  and  muffled, 
and  lose  their  music  day  by  day.  It  is  by  the 
presence  of  this  oxygen  that  American  litera 
ture  is  to  be  made  great.  We  are  lost  if  we 
permit  this  inspiration  of  our  nation's  life  to 
sustain  only  the  journalist  and  the  stump- 
speaker,  while  we  allow  the  colleges  and  the 
books  to  be  choked  with  the  dust  of  dead  cen 
turies  and  to  pant  for  daily  breath. 

Perhaps  it  may  yet  be  found  that  the  men 
who  are  contributing  most  to  raise  the  tone  of 
American  literature  are  the '  men  who  have 
never  yet  written  a  book  and  have  scarcely 
time  to  read  one,  but  by  their  heroic  energy  in 
other  spheres  are  providing  exemplars  for  what 
our  books  shall  one  day  be.  The  man  who  con 
structs  a  great  mechanical  work  helps  litera 
ture,  for  he  gives  a  model  which  shall  one  day 
inspire  us  to  construct  literary  works  as  great. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  forever  outdone  by  the  car 
pet  machinery  of  Clinton  or  the  grain  elevators 
of  Chicago.  We  have  not  yet  arrived  at  our 


238    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

literature,  —  other  things  must  come  first ;  we 
are  busy  with  our  railroads,  perfecting  the  vast 
alimentary  canal  by  which  the  nation  assimi 
lates  raw  immigrants  at  the  rate  of  half  a  mil 
lion  a  year.  We  are  not  yet  producing,  we  are 
digesting:  food  now,  literary  composition  by 
and  by :  Shakespeare  did  not  write  "  Hamlet " 
at  the  dinner-table.  It  is  of  course  impossible 
to  explain  this  to  foreigners,  and  they  still  talk 
of  convincing,  while  we  talk  of  dining. 

For  one,  I  cannot  dispense  with  the  society 
which  we  call  uncultivated.  Democratic  sym 
pathies  seem  to  be  mainly  a  matter  of  vigor  and 
health.  It  seems  to  be  the  first  symptom  of 
biliousness  to  think  that  only  one's  self  and 
one's  cousins  are  entitled  to  consideration,  and 
constitute  the  world.  Every  refined  person  is 
an  aristocrat  in  his  dyspeptic  moments  ;  when 
hearty  and  well,  he  demands  a  wider  range  of 
sympathy.  It  is  so  tedious  to  live  only  in  one 
circle  and  have  only  a  genteel  acquaintance ! 
Mrs.  Trench,  in  her  delightful  letters,  com 
plains  of  the  society  in  Dresden,  about  the  year 
1800,  because  of  "the  impossibility,  without 
overstepping  all  bounds  of  social  custom,  of  as 
sociating  with  any  but  noblesse."  We  order 
that  matter  otherwise  in  America.  I  wish  not 
only  to  know  my  neighbor,  the  man  of  fashion, 
who  strolls  to  his  club  at  noon,  but  also  my 


AMERICANISM   IN  LITERATURE      239 

neighbor,  the  wheelwright,  who  goes  to  his 
dinner  at  the  same  hour.  One  would  not  wish 
to  be  unacquainted  with  the  fair  maiden  who 
drives  by  in  her  basket-wagon  in  the  afternoon ; 
nor  with  the  other  fair  maiden  who  may  be 
seen  at  her  wash-tub  in  the  morning.  Both  are 
quite  worth  knowing ;  both  are  good,  sensible, 
dutiful  girls  :  the  young  laundress  is  the  better 
mathematician,  because  she  has  gone  through 
the  grammar  school ;  but  the  other  has  the 
better  French  accent,  because  she  has  spent 
half  her  life  in  Paris.  They  offer  a  variety,  at 
least,  and  save  from  that  monotony  which  besets 
any  set  of  people  when  seen  alone.  There  was 
much  reason  in  Horace  Walpole's  coachman, 
who,  having  driven  the  maids  of  honor  all  his 
life,  bequeathed  his  earnings  to  his  son,  on  con 
dition  that  he  should  never  marry  a  maid  of 
honor. 

I  affirm  that  democratic  society,  the  society 
of  the  future,  enriches  and  does  not  impoverish 
human  life,  a^d  gives  more,  not  less,  material 
for  literary  art.  Distributing  culture  through 
all  classes,  it  diminishes  class-distinction  and 
develops  individuality.  Perhaps  it  is  the  best 
phenomenon  of  American  life,  thus  far,  that 
the  word  "  gentleman,"  which  in  England  still 
designates  a  social  order,  is  here  more  apt  to 
refer  to  personal  character.  When  we  describe 


240    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

a  person  as  a  gentleman,  we  usually  refer  to 
his  manners,  morals,  and  education,  not  to  his 
property  or  birth ;  and  this  change  alone  is 
worth  the  transplantation  across  the  Atlantic. 
The  use  of  the  word  "lady  "  is  yet  more  com 
prehensive,  and  therefore  more  honorable  still ; 
we  sometimes  see,  in  a  shopkeeper's  advertise 
ment,  "  Saleslady  wanted."  No  doubt  the  mere 
fashionable  novelist  loses  terribly  by  the  change : 
when  all  classes  may  wear  the  same  dress-coat, 
what  is  left  for  him  ?  But  he  who  aims  to  depict 
passion  and  character  gains  in  proportion  ;  his 
material  is  increased  tenfold.  The  living  real 
ities  of  American  life  ought  to  come  in  among 
the  tiresome  lay-figures  of  average  English  fic 
tion  like  Steven  Lawrence  into  the  London 
drawing-room  :  tragedy  must  resume  its  grander 
shape,  and  no  longer  turn  on  the  vexed  ques 
tion  whether  the  daughter  of  this  or  that  match 
maker  shall  marry  the  baronet.  It  is  the  char 
acteristic  of  a  real  book  that,  though  the  scene 
be  laid  in  courts,  their  whole  machinery  might 
be  struck  out  and  the  essential  interest  of  the 
plot  remain  the  same.  In  Auerbach's  "  On  the 
Heights,"  for  instance,  the  social  heights  might 
be  abolished  and  the  moral  elevation  would 
be  enough.  The  play  of  human  emotion  is  a 
thing  so  absorbing  that  the  petty  distinctions 
of  cottage  and  castle  become  as  nothing  in  its 


AMERICANISM   IN   LITERATURE       241 

presence.  Why  not  waive  these  small  matters 
in  advance,  then,  and  go  straight  to  the  real 
thing  ? 

The  greatest  transatlantic  successes  which 
American  novelists  have  yet  attained  —  those 
won  by  Cooper  and  Mrs.  Stowe  —  have  come 
through  a  daring  Americanism  of  subject,  which 
introduced  in  each  case  a  new  figure  to  the 
European  world,  —  first  the  Indian,  then  the 
negro.  Whatever  the  merit  of  the  work,  it  was 
plainly  the  theme  which  conquered.  Such  suc 
cesses  are  not  easily  to  be  repeated,  for  they 
were  based  on  temporary  situations,  never  to 
recur.  But  they  prepare  the  way  for  higher 
triumphs  to  be  won  by  a  profounder  treatment, 
—  the  introduction  into  literature,  not  of  new 
tribes  alone,  but  of  the  American  spirit.  To 
analyze  combinations  of  character  that  only  our 
national  life  produces,  to  portray  dramatic  situ 
ations  that  belong  to  a  clearer  social  atmos 
phere,  —  this  is  the  higher  Americanism.  Of 
course,  to  cope  with  such  themes  in  such  a 
spirit  is  less  easy  than  to  describe  a  foray  or 
a  tournament,  or  to  multiply  indefinitely  such 
still-life  pictures  as  the  stereotyped  English  or 
French  society  affords ;  but  the  thing  when 
once  done  is  incomparably  nobler.  It  may  be 
centuries  before  it  is  done :  no  matter.  It  will 
be  done. 


242    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

We  talk  idly  about  the  tyranny  of  the  an 
cient  classics,  as  if  there  were  some  special 
peril  about  it,  quite  distinct  from  all  other  tyr 
annies.  But  if  a  man  is  to  be  stunted  by  the 
influence  of  a  master,  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  that  master  lived  before  or  since  the 
Christian  epoch.  One  folio  volume  is  as  pon 
derous  as  another,  if  it  crushes  down  the  ten 
der  germs  of  thought.  There  is  no  great  choice 
between  the  volumes  of  the  Encyclopaedia.  It 
is  not  important  to  know  whether  a  man  reads 
Homer  or  Dante  :  the  essential  point  is  whether 
he  believes  the  world  to  be  young  or  old ;  whe 
ther  he  sees  as  much  scope  for  his  own  inspira 
tion  as  if  never  a  book  had  appeared  in  the 
world.  So  long  as  he  does  this,  he  has  the 
American  spirit ;  no  books,  no  travel,  can  over 
whelm  him,  for  these  will  only  enlarge  his 
thoughts  and  raise  his  standard  of  execution. 
When  he  loses  this  faith,  he  takes  rank  among 
the  copyists  and  the  secondary,  and  no  accident 
can  raise  him  to  a  place  among  the  benefactors 
of  mankind.  He  is  like  a  man  who  is  frightened 
in  battle  :  you  cannot  exactly  blame  him,  for  it 
may  be  an  affair  of  the  temperament  or  of  the 
digestion  ;  but  you  are  glad  to  let  him  drop  to 
the  rear,  and  to  close  up  the  ranks.  Fields 
are  won  by  those  who  believe  in  the  winning. 


THE   NEW   WORLD   AND   THE   NEW 
BOOK1 

IT  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  man  who  has, 
among  all  American  authors,  made  the  most 
daring  and  almost  revolutionary  claims  in  be 
half  of  American  literature  should  yet  have 
been,  among  all  these  authors,  the  most  equable 
in  temperament  and  the  most  cosmopolitan  in 
training. 

Washington  Irving  was,  as  one  may  say, 
born  a  citizen  of  the  world,  for  he  was  born  in 
New  York  city.  He  was  not  a  rustic  nor  a 
Puritan,  nor  even,  in  the  American  sense,  a 
Yankee.  He  spent  twenty-one  years  of  his  life 
in  foreign  countries.  He  was  mistaken  in  Eng 
land  for  an  English  writer.  He  was  accepted 
as  an  adopted  Spaniard  in  Spain.  He  died  be 
fore  the  outbreak  of  the  great  Civil  War,  which 
did  so  much  to  convince  us,  for  a  time  at  least, 
that  we  were  a  nation.  Yet  it  was  Washington 
Irving  who  wrote  to  John  Lothrop  Motley,  in 
1857,  two  years  before  his  own  death  :  — 

"  You  are  properly  sensible  of  the  high  call- 

1  An  address  delivered  before  the  Nineteenth  Century 
Club,  New  York  city,  January  15,  1891. 


244    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ing  of  the  American  press,  that  rising  tribunal 
before  which  the  history  of  all  nations  is  to  be 
revised  and  rewritten,  and  the  judgment  of  past 
ages  to  be  corrected  or  confirmed." 1 

The  utmost  claim  of  the  most  impassioned 
Fourth  of  July  orator  has  never  involved  any 
declaration  of  literary  independence  to  be  com 
pared  with  this  deliberate  utterance  of  the 
placid  and  world-experienced  Irving.  It  was 
the  fashion  of  earlier  critics  to  pity  him  for  hav 
ing  been  born  into  a  country  without  a  past. 
This  passage  showed  him  to  have  rejoiced  in 
being  born  into  a  country  with  a  future.  His 
"  broad  and  eclectic  genius,"  as  Warner  well 
calls  it,  was  surely  not  given  to  bragging  or  to 
vagueness.  He  must  have  meant  something 
by  this  daring  statement.  What  did  he  mean  ? 

There  are  some  things  which  it  is  very  cer 
tain  that  he  did  not  mean.  He  certainly  did 
not  accept  the  Matthew  Arnold  attitude,  that 
to  talk  of  a  distinctive  American  press  at  all  is 
an  absurdity.  Arnold  finds  material  for  pro 
found  ridicule  in  the  fact  that  there  exists  a 
"  Primer  of  American  Literature  ;  "  this  poor 
little  Cinderella,  cut  off  from  all  schooling, 
must  not  even  have  a  primer  of  her  own.  Irving 
certainly  did  not  assume  the  Goldwin  Smith 
attitude,  that  this  nation  is  itself  but  a  schism, 

1  July  17,  1857.     Motley  Correspondence,  i.  203. 


THE   NEW  WORLD  245. 

and  should  be  viewed  accordingly ;  as  if  one 
should  talk  of  there  being  only  a  schism  be 
tween  an  oak-tree  and  its  seedling,  and  should 
try  to  correct  the  unhappy  separation  by  trowel 
and  gardener's  wax.  He  certainly  did  not  ac 
cept  the  theory  sometimes  so  earnestly  advo 
cated  among  us,  of  a  "  cosmopolitan  tribunal," 
which  always  turns  out  to  mean  a  tribunal 
where  all  other  nations  are  to  be  admitted  to 
the  jury-box,  while  America  is  to  get  no  further 
than  the  prisoners'  dock.  Irving  would  have 
made  as  short  work  with  such  a  cosmopolitan 
tribunal  as  did  Alice  in  Wonderland  with  the 
jury-box  of  small  quadrupeds,  when  she  refused 
to  obey  the  king's  order  that  all  persons  over  a 
mile  high  should  leave  the  court-room. 

At  any  rate,  Irving  must  have  meant  some 
thing  by  the  remark.  What  could  he  have 
meant  ?  What  is  this  touchstone  that  the 
American  press  must  apply  to  the  history  and 
the  thought  of  the  world  ?  The  touchstone,  I 
should  unhesitatingly  reply,  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  ;  or  rather,  perhaps,  of  those 
five  opening  words  into  which  the  essence  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  concen 
trated  ;  the  five  words  within  which,  as  Lincoln 
said,  Jefferson  embodied  an  eternal  truth. 
"  All  men  are  created  equal ;  "  —  that  is, 
equally  men. 


246    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

From  this  simple  assumption  flowed  all  that 
is  distinctive  in  American  society.  From  it 
resulted,  as  a  political  inference,  universal  suf 
frage  ;  that  is,  a  suffrage  constantly  tending  to 
be  universal,  although  it  still  leaves  out  one 
half  the  human  race.  This  universal  suffrage 
is  inevitably  based  on  the  doctrine  of  human 
equality,  as  further  interpreted  by  Franklin's 
remark  that  the  poor  man  has  an  equal  right 
to  the  suffrage  with  the  rich  man,  "and  more 
need,"  because  he  has  fewer  ways  in  which  to 
protect  himself.  But  it  is  not  true,  as  even 
such  acute  European  observers  as  M.  Scherer 
and  Sir  Henry  Maine  assume,  that  "  democracy 
is  but  a  form  of  government ; "  for  democracy 
has  just  as  distinct  a  place  in  society,  and,  above 
all,  in  the  realm  of  literature.  The  touchstone 
there  applied  is  just  the  same,  and  it  consists  in 
the  essential  dignity  and  value  of  the  individual 
man.  The  distinctive  attitude  of  the  American 
press  must  lie,  if  anywhere,  in  its  recognition  of 
this  individual  importance  and  worth. 

The  five  words  of  Jefferson  —  words  which 
Matthew  Arnold  pronounced  "not  solid,"  thus 
prove  themselves  solid  enough  to  sustain  not 
merely  the  government  of  sixty  or  seventy  mil 
lion  people,  but  their  literature.  Instead  of 
avoiding,  with  Goethe,  the  common,  das  Ge- 
meinde,  American  literature  must  freely  seek 


THE   NEW   WORLD  247 

the  common ;  its  fiction  must  record  not  queens 
and  Cleopatras  alone,  but  the  emotion  in  the 
heart  of  the  schoolgirl  and  the  sempstress ;  its 
history  must  record,  not  only  great  generals, 
but  the  nameless  boys  whose  graves  people 
with  undying  memories  every  soldiers'  cemetery 
from  Arlington  to  Chattanooga. 

And  Motley  the  pupil  was  not  unworthy  of 
Irving  from  whom  the  suggestion  came.  His 
"  Dutch  Republic "  was  written  in  this  Amer 
ican  spirit.  William  the  Silent  remains  in  our 
memory  as  no  more  essentially  a  hero  than  John 
Haring,  who  held  single-handed  his  submerged 
dike  against  an  army ;  and  Philip  of  Burgundy 
and  his  knights  of  the  Golden  Fleece  are 
painted  as  far  less  important  than  John  Coster, 
the  Antwerp  apothecary,  printing  his  little 
grammar  with  movable  types.  Motley  wrote 
from  England,  in  the  midst  of  an  intoxicating 
social  success,  that  he  never  should  wish  Amer 
ica  "to  be  anglicized  in  the  aristocratic  sense" 
of  the  term  ; 1  and  he  described  the  beautiful 
English  country-seats  as  "paradises  very  per 
verting  to  the  moral  and  politico-economical 
sense,"  and  sure  to  "pass  away,  one  of  these 
centuries,  in  the  general  progress  of  humanity."  2 
.  And  he  afterwards  said  the  profoundest  thing 
ever  uttered  in  regard  to  our  Civil  War,  when 

1  Corresf.,  ii.  294.  2  Ibid.,  ii.  280. 


248     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

he  said  that  it  was  not,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  "  a 
military  war,"  1  but  a  contest  of  two  principles. 
Wendell  Phillips  once  told  me  that  as  the  anti- 
slavery  contest  made  him  an  American,  so 
Europe  made  Motley  one ;  and  when  the  two 
young  aristocrats  met  after  years  of  absence, 
they  both  found  that  they  had  thus  experienced 
religion. 

When  we  pass  to  other  great  American  au 
thors,  we  see  that  Emerson  lifted  his  voice  and 
spoke  even  to  the  humblest  of  the  people  of  the 
intrinsic  dignity  of  man  :  — 

"  God  said,  I  am  tired  of  kings, 

I  suffer  them  no  more  ; 
Up  to  my  ear  the  morning  brings 
The  outrage  of  the  poor. 

"  I  will  have  never  a  noble, 

No  lineage  counted  great ; 
Fishers  and  choppers  and  ploughmen 
Shall  constitute  a  state. 


"  To-day  unbind  the  captive, 
So  only  are  ye  unbound  ; 
Lift  up  a  people  from  the  dust, 
Trump  of  their  rescue,  sound  ! 

"  Pay  ransom  to  the  owner, 

And  fill  the  bag  to  the  brim. 
Who  is  the  owner  ?    The  slave  is  owner, 
And  ever  was.     Pay  him." 

1  Corresp.,  ii.  82. 


THE    NEW  WORLD  249 

That  poem  was  not  written  for  a  few  culti 
vated  people  only.  I  heard  it  read  to  an  armed 
regiment  of  freed  slaves,  standing  silent  with 
dusky  faces,  having  the  solemn  arches  of  the  live 
oaks  above  them,  each  tree  draped  with  long 
festoons  of  gray  moss  across  its  hundred  feet 
of  shade.  Never  reader  had  an  audience  more 
serious,  more  thoughtful.  The  words  which  to 
others  are  literature,  to  them  were  life. 

And  all  that  early  transcendental  school 
which  did  so  much  to  emancipate  and  national 
ize  American  literature,  did  it  by  recognizing 
this  same  fact.  From  the  depth  of  their  so-called 
idealism  they  recognized  the  infinite  value  of 
the  individual  man.  Thoreau,  who  has  been  so 
incorrectly  and  even  cruelly  described  as  a  man 
who  spurned  his  fellows,  wrote  that  noble  sen 
tence,  forever  refuting  such  critics,  "What  is 
nature,  without  a  human  life  passing  within 
her?  Many  joys  and  many  sorrows  are  the 
lights  and  shadows  in  which  she  shines  most 
beautiful."  Hawthorne  came  nearest  to  a  por 
trayal  of  himself  in  that  exquisite  prose-poem  of 
"The  Threefold  Destiny,"  in  which  the  world- 
weary  man  returns  to  his  native  village  and 
finds  all  his  early  dreams  fulfilled  in  the  life 
beside  his  own  hearthstone.  Margaret  Fuller 
Ossoli  wrote  the  profoundest  phrase  of  criticism 
which  has  yet  proceeded  from  any  American 


250    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

critic,  when  she  said  that  in  a  work  of  fiction 
we  need  to  hear  the  excuses  that  men  make  to 
themselves  for  their  worthlessness. 

And  now  that  this  early  ideal  movement  has 
passed  by,  the  far  wider  movement  which  is 
establishing  American  fiction,  not  in  one  local 
ity  alone,  but  on  a  field  broad  as  the  continent, 
unconsciously  recognizes  this  one  principle,  — 
the  essential  dignity  and  worth  of  the  individ 
ual  man.  This  is  what  enables  it  to  dispense 
with  the  toy  of  royalty  and  the  mechanism  of 
separate  classes,  and  to  reach  human  nature 
itself.  When  we  look  at  the  masters  of  Eng 
lish  fiction,  Scott  and  Jane  Austen,  we  notice 
that  in  scarcely  one  of  their  novels  does  one 
person  ever  swerve  on  the  closing  page  from 
the  precise  social  position  he  has  held  from  the 
beginning.  Society  in  their  hands  is  fixed,  not 
fluid.  Of  course,  there  are  a  few  concealed 
heirs,  a  few  revealed  strawberry  leaves,  but 
never  any  essential  change.  I  can  recall  no 
real  social  promotion  in  all  the  Waverley  novels 
except  where  H  albert  Glendinning  weds  the 
maid  of  Avenel,  and  there  the  tutelary  genius 
disappears  singing,  — 

"  The  churl  is  lord,  the  maid  is  bride,"  — 

and  it  proved  necessary  for  Scott  to  write  a 
sequel,  explaining  that  the  marriage  was  on  the 


THE  NEW  WORLD  251 

whole  a  rather  unhappy  one,  and  that  luckily 
they  had  no  children.  Not  that  Scott  did  not 
appreciate  with  the  keenest  zest  his  own  Jean- 
nie  Deanses  and  Dandie  Dinmonts,  but  they 
must  keep  their  place ;  it  is  not  human  nature 
they  vindicate,  but  peasant  virtues. 

But  from  the  moment  American  fiction  came 
upon  the  scene,  it  brought  a  change.  Peasant 
virtue  vanishes  when  the  peasant  is  a  possible 
president,  and  what  takes  its  place  is  individual 
manhood,  irrespective  of  social  position.  The 
heroes  who  successively  conquered  Europe  in 
the  hands  of  American  authors  were  of  low 
estate,  —  a  backwoodsman,  a  pilot,  a  negro 
slave,  a  lamplighter;  to  which  gallery  Bret 
Harte  added  the  gambler,  and  the  authors  of 
"  Democracy  "  and  the  "  Bread- Winners  "  flung 
in  the  politician.  In  all  these  figures  social  dis 
tinctions  disappear :  "  a  man  's  a  man  for  a* 
that."  And  so  of  our  later  writers,  Miss  Wil- 
kins  in  New  England,  Miss  Murfree  in  Ten 
nessee,  Mr.  Cable  in  Louisiana,  Mr.  Howe  in 
Kansas,  Dr.  Eggleston  in  Indiana,  Julien  Gor 
don  in  New  York,  all  represent  the  same  im 
pulse  ;  all  recognize  that  "  all  men  are  created 
equal"  in  Jefferson's  sense,  because  all  recog 
nize  the  essential  and  inalienable  value  of  the 
individual  man. 

It  would  be,  of  course,  absurd  to  claim  that 


252 

America  represents  the  whole  of  this  tendency, 
for  the  tendency  is  a  part  of  that  wave  of  demo 
cratic  feeling  which  is  overflowing  the  world. 
But  Dickens,  who  initiated  the  movement  in 
English  fiction,  was  unquestionably  influenced 
by  that  very  American  life  which  he  disliked 
and  caricatured,  and  we  have  since  seen  a 
similar  impulse  spread  through  other  countries. 
In  the  Russian,  the  Norwegian,  the  Spanish, 
the  Italian  fiction,  we  now  rarely  find  a  plot 
turning  on  some  merely  conventional  difference 
between  the  social  positions  .of  hero  and  hero 
ine.  In  England  the  change  has  been  made 
more  slowly  than  elsewhere,  so  incongruous  is 
it  in  the  midst  of  a  society  which  still,  in  the 
phrase  of  Brander  Matthews,  accepts  dukes. 
Indeed,  it  is  curious  to  observe  that  for  a  time 
it  was  found  necessary,  in  the  earlier  stages  of 
the  transition,  to  label  the  hero  with  his  precise 
social  position  ;  —  as  "  Steven  Lawrence,  Yeo 
man,"  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman,"  —  whereas 
in  America  it  would  have  been  left  for  the 
reader  to  find  out  whether  John  Halifax  was  or 
was  not  a  gentleman,  and  no  label  would  have 
been  thought  needful. 

And  I  hasten  to  add,  what  I  should  not  al 
ways  have  felt  justified  in  saying,  that  this 
American  tendency  comes  to  its  highest  point 
and  is  best  indicated  in  the  later  work  of  Mr. 


THE   NEW   WORLD  253 

Howells.  Happy  is  that  author  whose  final 
admirers  are,  as  heroes  used  to  say,  "  the  cap 
tives  of  his  bow  and  spear,"  the  men  from 
whom  he  met  his  earlier  criticism.  Happy  is 
that  man  who  has  the  patience  to  follow,  like 
Cicero,  his  own  genius,  and  not  to  take  the 
opinions  of  others  for  his  guide.  And  the  ear 
lier  work  of  Mr.  Howells — that  is,  everything 
before  "The  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham,"  "Annie 
Kilburn," and  "The  Hazard  of  New  Fortunes  " 
—  falls  rtow  into  its  right  place;  its  alleged 
thinness  becomes  merely  that  of  the  painter's 
sketches  and  studies  before  his  maturer  work 
begins.  As  the  Emperor  Alaric  felt  always 
an  unseen  power  drawing  him  on  to  Rome,  so 
Howells  has  evidently  felt  a  magnet  drawing 
him  on  to  New  York,  and  it  was  not  until  he 
set  up  his  canvas  there  that  it  had  due  pro 
portions.  My  friend  James  Parton  used  to 
say  that  students  must  live  in  New  England, 
where  there  were  better  libraries,  but  that 
"loafers  and  men  of  genius"  should  live  in 
New  York.  To  me  personally  it  seems  a  high 
price  to  pay  for  the  privileges  either  of  genius 
or  of  loafing,  but  it  is  well  that  Howells  has  at 
last  paid  it  for  the  sake  of  the  results.  It  is 
impossible  to  deny  that  he  as  a  critic  has  proved 
himself  sometimes  narrow,  and  has  rejected 
with  too  great  vehemence  that  which  lay  out- 


254     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

side  of  his  especial  domain.  It  is  not  neces 
sary,  because  one  prefers  apples,  to  condemn 
oranges ;  and  he  has  sometimes  needed  the 
caution  of  the  old  judge  to  the  young  one: 
"  Beware  how  you  give  reasons  for  your  deci 
sions  ;  for,  while  your  decisions  will  usually  be 
right,  your  reasons  will  very  often  be  wrong." 
But  as  he  has  become  touched  more  and  more 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity,  he  has  grown 
better  than  his  reasons,  far  better  than  his  criti 
cisms  ;  and  it  is  with  him  and  with  the  school 
he  represents  that  the  hope  of  American  litera- 
just  now  rests.  The  reason  why  he  finds  no 
delicate  shading  or  gradation  of  character  un 
important  is  that  he  represents  the  dignity  and 
importance  of  the  individual  man. 

It  must  always  be  remembered  that  in  litera 
ture,  alone  of  all  arts,  place  is  of  secondary  im 
portance,  for  its  masterpieces  can  be  carried 
round  the  world  in  one's  pockets.  We  need  to 
go  to  Europe  to  see  the  great  galleries,  to  hear 
the  music  of  Wagner,  but  the  boy  who  reads 
./Eschylus  and  Horace  and  Shakespeare  by  his 
pine-knot  fire  has  at  his  command  the  essence 
of  all  universities,  so  far  as  literary  training 
goes.  But  even  were  this  otherwise,  we  must 
remember  that  libraries,  galleries,  and  buildings 
are  all  secondary  to  that  great  human  life  of 
which  they  are  only  the  secretions  or  append- 


THE  NEW  WORLD  255 

ages.     "My   Madonnas" — thus  wrote  to  me 
that  recluse  woman  of  genius,  Emily  Dickinson 

—  "  are  the  women  who  pass  my  house  to  their 
work,  bearing  Saviors  in  their  arms."     Words 
wait  on  thoughts,  thoughts  on  life ;  and  after 
these,    technical    training  is   an    easy    thing. 
"The  art  of  composition,"  wrote  Thoreau,  "is 
as  simple  as  the  discharge  of  a  bullet  from  a 
rifle,  and  its  masterpieces  imply  an  infinitely 
greater  force  behind  them."    What  are  the  two 
unmistakable  rifle-shots  in  American  literature 
thus  far  ?     John  Brown's  speech  in  the  court 
room  and  Lincoln's  Gettysburg  address. 

Yielding  to  no  one  in  the  desire  to  see  our 
land  filled  with  libraries,  with  galleries,  with 
museums,  with  fine  buildings,  I  must  still  main 
tain  that  all  those  things  are  secondary  to  that 
vigorous  American  life,  which  is  destined  to 
assimilate  and  digest  them  all.  We  are  still  in 
allegiance  to  Europe  for  a  thousand  things  ; 

—  clothes,  art,  scholarship.    For  many  years  we 
must  yet  go  to  Europe,  as  did  Robinson  Crusoe 
to  his  wreck,  for  the  very  materials  of  living. 
But  materials  take  their  value  from  him  who 
uses  them,  and  that  wreck  would   have   long 
since  passed  from  memory  had  there  not  been 
a   Robinson  Crusoe.     I  am  willing  to  be  cen 
sured  for  too  much  national  self-confidence,  for 
it  is  still  true  that  we,  like  the  young  Cicero, 


256    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

need  that  quality.  Goethe's  world-literature  is, 
no  doubt,  the  ultimate  aim,  but  a  strong  national 
literature  must  come  first.  The  new  book  must 
express  the  spirit  of  the  New  World.  We  need 
some  repressing,  no  doubt,  and  every  European 
newspaper  is  free  to  apply  it ;  we  listen  with 
exemplary  meekness  to  every  little  European 
lecturer  who  comes  to  enlighten  us,  in  words  of 
one  syllable,  as  to  what  we  knew  very  well 
before.  We  need  something  of  repression,  but 
much  more  of  stimulus.  So  Spenser's  Brito- 
mart,  when  she  entered  the  enchanted  hall, 
found  above  four  doors  in  succession  the  in 
scription,  "  Be  bold !  be  bold !  be  bold !  be 
bold ! "  and  only  over  the  fifth  door  was  the 
inscription,  needful  but  wholly  subordinate, 
"  Be  not  too  bold  ! " 


A  CONTEMPORANEOUS  POSTERITY 

THERE  is  an  American  novel,  now  pretty 
effectually  forgotten,  which  yet  had  the  rare 
honor  of  contributing  one  permanent  phrase  to 
English  literature.  I  remember  well  the  sur 
prise  produced,  in  my  boyhood,  by  the  appear 
ance  of  "  Stanley ;  or,  The  Recollections  of  a 
Man  of  the  World."  It  was  so  crammed  with 
miscellaneous  literary  allusion  and  criticism, 
after  the  fashion  of  those  days,  that  it  was  at 
tributed  by  some  critics  to  Edward  Everett,  then 
the  standing  representative  of  omniscience  in 
our  Eastern  States.  This  literary  material  was 
strung  loosely  upon  a  plot  wild  and  improbable 
enough  for  Brockden  Brown,  and  yet  vivid 
enough  to  retain  a  certain  charm,  for  me  at 
least,  even  until  this  day.  It  was  this  plot, 
perhaps,  which  led  the  late  James  T.  Fields  to 
maintain  that  Maturin  was  the  author  of  the 
novel  in  question  ;  but  it  is  now  known  to  have 
been  the  production  of  Horace  Binney  Wallace 
of  Philadelphia,  then  a  youth  of  twenty-one. 
In  this  book  occurs  the  sentence:  "Byron's 
European  fame  is  the  best  earnest  of  his  im- 


258    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

mortality,  for  a  foreign  nation  is  a  kind  of  con 
temporaneous  posterity."  1 

Few  widely  quoted  phrases  have  had,  I  fancy, 
less  foundation.  It  is  convenient  to  imagine 
that  an  ocean  or  a  mountain  barrier,  or  even  a 
line  of  custom-houses,  may  furnish  a  sieve  that 
shall  sift  all  true  reputations  from  the  chaff ; 
but  in  fact,  I  suspect,  whatever  whims  may  vary 
or  unsettle  immediate  reputations  on  the  spot, 
these  disturbing  influences  are  only  redistrib 
uted,  not  abolished,  by  distance.  Whether  we 
look  to  popular  preference  or  to  the  judgment 
of  high  authorities,  the  result  is  equally  baf 
fling.  Napoleon  Bonaparte  preferred  Ossian,  it 
is  said,  to  Shakespeare ;  and  Voltaire  placed  the 
latter  among  the  minor  poets,  viewing  him  at 
best  as  we  now  view  Marlowe,  as  the  author  of 
an  occasional  mighty  line.  It  was  after  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Montagu  had  been  asked  to  hear  Vol 
taire  demolish  Shakespeare  at  an  evening  party 
in  Paris  that  she  made  her  celebrated  answer, 
when  the  host  expressed  the  hope  that  she  had 
not  been  pained  by  the  criticism  :  "  Why  should 
I  be  pained  ?  I  have  not  the  honor  to  be  among 
the  intimate  friends  of  M.  de  Voltaire."  Even 
at  this  day  the  French  journalists  are  quite  be 
wildered  by  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette's  "  lists  of 
English  immortals  ;  and  ask  who  Tennyson  is, 


A   CONTEMPORANEOUS    POSTERITY     259 

and  what  plays  Ruskin  has  written.  Those 
who  happened,  like  myself,  to  be  in  Paris  dur 
ing  the  Exposition  of  1878  remember  well  the 
astonishment  produced  in  the  French  mind  by 
the  discovery  that  any  pictures  were  painted  in 
England ;  and  the  French  Millet  was  at  that 
time  almost  as  little  known  in  London  as  was 
his  almost  namesake,  the  English  Millais,  in 
Paris.  If  a  foreign  nation  represented  poster 
ity,  neither  of  these  eminent  artists  appeared 
then  to  have  a  chance  of  lasting  fame. 

When  we  see  the  intellectual  separation  thus 
maintained  between  England  and  France,  with 
only  the  width  of  the  Channel  between  them, 
we  can  understand  the  separation  achieved  by 
the  Atlantic,  even  where  there  is  no  essential 
difference  of  language.  M.  Taine  tries  to  con 
vince  Frenchmen  that  the  forty  English  "im 
mortals  "  selected  by  the  readers  of  the  "  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  "  are  eaual,  taken  together,  to  the 
French  Academic:'.iis.  "You  do  not  know 
them,  you  say  ? "  he  goes  on.  "  That  is  not  a 
sufficient  reason.  The  English,  and  all  who 
speak  English,  know  them  well,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  know  little  of  our  men  of  letters." 
After  this  a  French  paper,  reprinting  a  similar 
English  list,  added  comments  on  the  names, 
like  this,  "  Robert  Browning,  the  Scotch  poet." 
There  is  probably  no  better  manual  of  universal 


26o    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

knowledge  than  the  great  French  dictionary  of 
Larousse.  When  people  come  with  miscella 
neous  questions  to  the  Harvard  College  librari 
ans,  they  often  say  in  return,  "  Have  you  looked 
in  Larousse  ? "  Now,  when  one  looks  in  La 
rousse  to  see  who  Robert  Browning  was,  one 
finds  the  statement  that  the  genius  of  Browning 
is  more  analogous  to  that  of  his  American  con 
temporaries,  "  Emerton,  Wendell  Holmes,  and 
Bigelow,"  than  to  that  of  any  English  poet 
("  celle  de  n'importe  quel  poete  anglais  ").  This 
transformation  of  Emerson  into  Emerton,  and 
of  Lowell,  probably,  to  Bigelow,  is  hardly  more 
extraordinary  than  to  link  together  three  such 
dissimilar  poets,  and  compare  Browning  to  all 
three  of  them,  or,  indeed,  to  either  of  the  three. 
Yet  it  gives  us  the  high-water  mark  of  what 
"contemporaneous  posterity  "  has  to  offer.  The 
criticism  of  another  nation  can,  no  doubt,  offer 
some  advantages  of  its  own  —  a  fresh  pair  of 
eyes  and  freedom  from  cliques ;  but  a  foreigner 
can  be  no  judge  of  local  coloring,  whether  in 
nature  or  manners.  The  mere  knowledge  of 
the  history  of  a  nation  may  be  essential  to  a 
knowledge  of  its  art. 

So  far  as  literature  goes,  the  largest  element 
of  foreign  popularity  lies  naturally  in  some  kin 
ship  of  language.  Reputation  follows  the  line 
of  least  resistance.  The  Germanic  races  take 


A   CONTEMPORANEOUS   POSTERITY    261 

naturally  to  the  literature  of  their  own  con 
geners,  and  so  with  the  Latin.  As  these  last 
have  had  precedence  in  organizing  the  social 
life  of  the  world,  so  they  still  retain  it  in  their 
literary  sway.  The  French  tongue,  in  particu 
lar,  while  ceasing  to  be  the  vehicle  of  all  trav 
elling  intercourse,  is  still  the  second  language 
of  all  the  world.  A  Portuguese  gentleman  said 
once  to  a  friend  of  mine  in  Fayal  that  he  was 
studying  French  "  in  order  to  have  something 
to  read."  All  the  empire  of  Great  Britain,  cir 
cling  the  globe,  affords  to  her  poets  or  novel 
ists  but  a  petty  and  insular  audience  compared 
with  that  addressed  by  Balzac  or  Victor  Hugo. 
A  Roman  Catholic  convert  from  America,  going 
from  Paris  to  Rome,  and  having  audience  with 
a  former  pope,  is  said  to  have  been  a  little  dis 
mayed  when  his  Holiness  instantly  inquired, 
with  eager  solicitude,  as  to  the  rumored  illness 
of  Paul  de  Kock  —  the  milder  Zola  of  the  last 
generation.  In  contemporaneous  fame,  then, 
the  mere  accident  of  nationality  and  language 
plays  an  enormous  part ;  but  this  accident  will 
clearly  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  judgment 
of  posterity. 

If  any  foreign  country  could  stand  for  a  con 
temporaneous  posterity,  one  would  think  it 
might  be  a  younger  nation  judging  an  older 
one.  Yet  how  little  did  the  American  reputa- 


262     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

tions  of  fifty  years  ago  afford  any  sure  predic 
tion  of  permanent  fame  in  respect  to  English 
writers  !  True,  we  gave  early  recognition  to 
Carlyle  and  Tennyson,  but  scarcely  greater  than 
to  authors  now  faded  or  fading  into  obscurity, 
—  Milnes  (Lord  Houghton),  Sterling,  Trench, 
Alford,  and  Bailey.  No  English  poem,  it  was 
said,  ever  sold  through  so  many  American  edi 
tions  as  "Festus  "  ;  nor  was  Tupper's  "Prover 
bial  Philosophy  "  far  behind  it.  Translators  and 
publishers  quarrelled  bitterly  for  the  privilege 
of  translating  Frederika  Bremer's  novels  ;  but 
our  young  people,  who  already  stand  for  poster 
ity,  hardly  recall  her  name.  I  asked  a  Swedish 
commissioner  at  our  Centennial  Exhibition  in 
1876,  "Is  Miss  Bremer  still  read  in  Sweden  ?" 
He  shook  his  head  ;  and  when  I  asked,  "  Who 
has  replaced  her  ? "  he  said,  "  Bret  Harte  and 
Mark  Twain."  It  seemed  the  irony  of  fame; 
and  there  is  no  guaranty  that  this  reversed 
national  compliment  will,  any  more  than  our 
recognition  of  her,  predict  the  judgment  of  the 
future. 

If  this  uncertainty  exists  when  the  New 
World  judges  the  Old,  of  which  it  knows  some 
thing,  the  insecurity  must  be  greater  when  the 
Old  World  judges  the  New,  of  which  it  knows 
next  to  nothing.  If  the  multiplicity  of  trans 
lations  be  any  test,  Mrs.  Stowe's  contemporary 


A   CONTEMPORANEOUS   POSTERITY     263 

fame,  the  world  over,  has  been  unequalled  in 
literature ;  but  will  any  one  now  say  that  this 
surely  predicts  the  judgment  of  posterity  ? 
Consider  the  companion  instances.  Next  to 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin "  ranked  for  a  season, 
doubtless,  in  European  favor,  that  exceedingly 
commonplace  novel,  "  The  Lamplighter,"  whose 
very  name  is  now  almost  forgotten  at  home.  It 
is  impossible  to  say  what  law  enters  into  such 
successes  as  this  last ;  but  one  of  the  most 
obvious  demands  made  by  all  foreign  contem 
porary  judgment  is  that  an  American  book 
should  supply  to  a  jaded  public  the  element  of 
the  unexpected.  Europe  demands  from  Amer 
ica  not  so  much  a  new  thought  and  purpose, 
as  some  new  dramatis  pers once  ;  that  an  author 
should  exhibit  a  wholly  untried  type,  —  an  In 
dian,  as  Cooper ;  a  negro,  as  Mrs.  Stowe ;  a 
mountaineer,  as  Miss  Murfree ;  a  California 
gambler,  as  Bret  Harte  ;  a  rough  or  roustabout, 
as  Whitman. 

There  are  commonly  two  ways  to  eminent 
social  success  for  an  American  in  foreign  so 
ciety,  -r-  to  be  more  European  than  Europeans 
themselves,  or  else  to  surpass  all  other  Ameri 
cans  in  some  amusing  peculiarity  which  for 
eigners  suppose  to  be  American.  It  is  much 
the  same  in  literature.  Lady  Morgan,  describ 
ing  the  high  society  of  Dublin  in  her  day, 


264    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

speaks  of  one  man  as  a  great  favorite  who 
always  entered  every  drawing-room  by  turning 
a  somersault.  This  is  one  way  of  success  for 
an  American  book ;  but  the  other  way,  which 
is  at  least  more  dignified,  is  rarely  successful 
except  when  combined  with  personal  residence 
and  private  acquaintance.  Down  to  the  year 
1880  Lowell  was  known  in  England,  almost 
exclusively,  as  the  author  of  the  "Biglow  Pa 
pers,"  and  was  habitually  classed  with  Arte- 
mus  Ward  and  Josh  Billings,  except  that  his 
audience  was  smaller.  The  unusual  experience 
of  a  diplomatic  appointment  first  unveiled  to 
the  English  mind  the  all-accomplished  Lowell 
whom  we  mourn.  In  other  cases,  as  with  Pres- 
cott  and  Motley,  there  was  the  mingled  attrac 
tion  of  European  manners  and  a  European 
subject.  But  a' simple  and  home-loving  Amer 
ican,  who  writes  upon  the  themes  furnished  by 
his  own  nation,  without  pyrotechnics  or  fantas 
tic  spelling,  is  apt  to  seem  to  the  English  mind 
quite  uninteresting.  There  is  nothing  which 
ordinarily  interests  Europeans  less  than  an 
Americanism  unaccompanied  by  a  war-whoop. 
The  "  Saturday  Review,"  wishing  to  emphasize 
its  contempt  for'  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  finally 
declares  that  one  would  turn  from  him  with 
relief  even  to  the  poems  of  Whittier. 

There  could  hardly  have  been   a  more  ex- 


A  CONTEMPORANEOUS   POSTERITY    265 

haustive  proof  of  this  local  limitation  or  chau- 
vinisme  than  I  myself  noticed  at  a  London 
dinner-party  some  years  ago.  Our  host  was  an 
Oxford  professor,  and  the  company  was  an  emi 
nent  one.  Being  hard  pressed  about  American 
literature,  I  had  said  incidentally  that  a  great 
deal  of  intellectual  activity  in  America  was 
occupied,  and  rightly,  by  the  elucidation  of  our 
own  history,  —  a  thing,  I  added,  which  inspired 
almost  no  interest  in  England.  This  fact  be 
ing  disputed,  I  said,  "  Let  us  take  a  test  case. 
We  have  in  America  an  historian  superior  to 
Motley  in  labors,  in  originality  of  treatment, 
and  in  style.  If  he  had,  like  Motley,  first  gone 
abroad  for  a  subject,  and  then  for  a  residence, 
his  European  fame  would  have  equalled  Mot 
ley's.  As  it  is,  probably  not  a  person  present 
except  our  host  will  recognize  his  name." 
When  I  mentioned  Francis  Parkman,  the  pre 
diction  was  fulfilled.  All,  save  the  host  —  a 
man  better  acquainted  with  the  United  States, 
perhaps,  than  any  living  Englishman  —  con 
fessed  utter  ignorance  :  an  ignorance  shared,  it 
seems,  by  the  only  English  historian  of  Amer 
ican  literature,  Professor  Nichol,  who  actually 
does  not  allude  to  Parkman.  It  seems  to  me 
that  we  had  better,  in  view  of  such  facts,  dis 
miss  the  theory  that  a  foreign  nation  is  a  kind 
of  contemporaneous  posterity. 


DO  WE  NEED  A  LITERARY  CENTRE? 

IN  the  latter  days  of  the  last  French  Empire 
some  stir  was  made  by  a  book  claiming  that 
Paris  was  already  the  capital  of  the  world  — 
Paris  capitate  du  monde.  Mr.  Lowell  afterward 
made  claims  rather  more  moderate  for  London, 
suggesting  that  a  time  may  come  when  the 
English-speaking  race  will  practically  control 
the  planet,  having  London  for  its  centre,  with 
all  roads  leading  to  it,  as  they  once  led  to 
Rome.  But  it  is  plain  that  in  making  this  esti 
mate  Mr.  Lowell  overlooked  some  very  essen 
tial  factors  —  for  instance,  himself.  If  ancient 
Rome  had  borrowed  for  its  most  important 
literary  addresses  an  orator  from  Paphlagonia, 
who  was  not  even  a  Roman  citizen,  it  would 
plainly  have  ceased  to  be  the  Rome  of  our  rev 
erence  ;  and  yet  this  is  what  has  repeatedly 
been  done  in  London  by  the  selection  of  Mr. 
Lowell.  Or  if  the  province  of  Britain  had  fur 
nished  a  periodical  publication  —  an  Acta  Eru- 
ditoruwiy  let  us  say  —  which  had  been  regularly 
reprinted  in  Rome  with  a  wider  circulation  than 
any  metropolitan  issue,  then  Rome  would  again 
have  ceased  to  be  Rome ;  and  yet  this  is  what 


DO  WE  NEED  A  LITERARY  CENTRE?    267 

is  done  in  London  every  month  by  the  Amer 
ican  illustrated  magazines.  It  is  clear,  then,  that 
London  is  not  the  exclusive  intellectual  centre 
of  the  English-speaking  world,  nor  is  there  the 
slightest  evidence  that  it  is  becoming  more  and 
more  such  a  centre.  On  the  contrary,  one  hears 
in  England  a  prolonged  groan  over  an  imagined 
influence  the  other  way.  "I  have  long  felt," 
wrote  Sir  Frederick  Elliot  to  Sir  Henry  Taylor 
from  London  (December  20,  1877),  "that  the 
most  certain  of  political  tendencies  in  England 
is  what,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  I  will  call 
the  Yankeeizing  tendency."  But  apart  from 
these  suggestions  as  to  London,  Mr.  Lowell  has 
urged  and  urged  strongly  the  need  of  a  national 
capital.  He  has  expressed  the  wish  for  "a 
focus  of  intellectual,  moral,  and  material  activ 
ity,"  "a  common  head,  as  well  as  a  common 
body."  In  this  he  erred  only,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
in  applying  too  readily  to  our  vaster  conditions 
the  standards  and  traditions  of  much  smaller 
countries.  If  it  be  true,  as  was  once  said  pub 
licly  by  our  eloquent  English-born  clergyman 
in  New  York,  Dr.  Rainsford,  that  America  is 
a  branch  which  is  rapidly  becoming  the  main 
stem,  then  the  fact  may  as  well  be  recognized. 
As  in  our  political  system,  so  in  literature,  we 
may  need  a  new  plan  of  structure  for  that  which 
is  to  embrace  a  continent  —  a  system  of  coordi- 


268     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

nate  states  instead  of  a  centralized  empire.  Our 
literature,  like  our  laws,  will  probably  proceed 
not  from  one  focus,  but  from  many.  To  one 
looking  across  from  London  or  Paris  this  would 
seem  impossible,  for  while  living  in  a  great  city 
you  come  to  feel  as  if  that  spot  were  all  the 
world,  and  all  else  must  be  abandoned,  as  Cher- 
buliez's  heroine  says,  to  the  indiscreet  curiosity 
of  geographers.  But  when  you  again  look  at 
that  city  from  across  the  ocean,  you  perceive 
how  easily  it  may  cramp  and  confine  those  who 
live  in  it,  and  you  are  grateful  for  elbow-room 
and  fresh  air.  Nothing  smaller  than  a  conti 
nent  can  really  be  large  enough  to  give  space 
for  the  literature  of  the  future. 

It  is  to  be  considered  that  in  this  age  great 
cities  do  not  exhibit,  beyond  a  certain  point, 
the  breadth  of  atmosphere  that  one  expects 
from  a  world's  capital.  On  the  contrary,  we 
find  in  Paris,  in  Berlin,  in  London,  a  certain 
curious  narrowness,  an  immense  exaggeration 
of  its  own  petty  and  local  interests.  We  meet 
there  individual  men  of  extraordinary  know 
ledge  in  this  or  that  direction,  but  the  inter 
change  of  thought  and  feeling  seems  to  lie 
within  a  ring-fence.  A  good  test  of  this  is  in 
the  recent  books  of  "reminiscences"  or  "re 
membrances  "  by  accomplished  men  who  have 
lived  for  years  in  the  most  brilliant  circles  of 


DO  WE  NEED  A  LITERARY  CENTRE?    269 

London.  Each  day  is  depicted  as  a  string  of 
pearls,  but  with  only  the  names  of  the  pearls 
mentioned;  the  actual  jewels  are  not  forthcom 
ing.  A  man  breakfasts  with  one  circle  of  wits 
and  sages,  lunches  with  another,  dines  with  a 
third ;  and  all  this  intellectual  affluence  yields 
him  for  his  diary  perhaps  a  single  anecdote  or 
repartee  no  better  than  are  to  be  found  by 
dozens  in  the  corners  of  American  country 
newspapers.  It  recalls  what  a  clever  American 
artist  once  told  me,  that  he  had  dined  tri 
umphantly  through  three  English  counties,  and 
brought  away  a  great  social  reputation,  on  the 
strength  of  the  stories  in  one  old  "  Farmer's 
Almanac"  which  he  had  put  in  his  trunk  to 
protect  some  books  on  leaving  home.  The  very 
excess  or  congestion  of  intellect  in  a  great  city 
seems  to  defeat  itself;  there  is  no  time  or 
strength  left  for  anything  beyond  the  most 
superficial  touch-and-go  intercourse ;  it  is  persi 
flage  carried  to  the  greatest  perfection,  but  you 
get  little  more. 

A  great  metropolis  is  moreover  disappoint 
ing,  because,  although  it  may  furnish  great 
men,  its  literary  daily  bread  is  inevitably  sup 
plied  by  small  men,  who  revolve  round  the 
larger  ones,  and  who  are  even  less  interesting 
to  the  visitor  than  the  same  class  at  home. 
There  is  something  amusing  in  the  indifference 


270    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

of  every  special  neighborhood  to  all  literary 
gossip  except  its  own.  For  instance,  one  might 
well  have  supposed  that  the  admiration  of  Eng 
lishmen  for  Longfellow  might  inspire  an  intel 
ligent  desire  to  know  something  of  his  daily 
interests,  of  his  friendships  and  pursuits ;  yet 
when  his  Memoirs  appeared,  all  English  critics 
pronounced  these  things  exceedingly  uninter 
esting  ;  while  much  smaller  gossip  about  much 
smaller  people,  in  the  Hayward  Memoirs,  was 
found  by  these  same  critics  to  be  an  important 
addition  to  the  history  of  the  times.  It  is  an 
absolute  necessity  for  every  nation,  as  for  every 
age,  to  insist  on  setting  its  own  standard,  even 
to  the  resolute  readjustment  of  well-established 
reputations.  So  long  as  it  does  not,  it  will  find 
itself  overawed  and  depressed,  not  so  much  by 
the  greatness  of  some  metropolis,  as  by  its  lit 
tleness. 

It  is  the  calamity  of  a  large  city  that  its 
smallest  men  appear  to  themselves  important 
simply  because  they  dwell  there ;  just  as  Trav- 
ers,  the  New  York  wit,  explained  his  stutter 
ing  more  in  that  city  than  in  Baltimore,  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  a  larger  place.  The  London 
literary  journals  seem  to  an  American  visitor 
to  be  largely  filled  with  Epistolcz  obscurorum 
virorum ;  and  when  I  attended,  some  years 
since,  the  first  meetings  of  the  Association 


DO  WE  NEED  A  LITERARY  CENTRE?    271 

Litteraire  Internationale  in  Paris,  it  was  impos 
sible  not  to  be  impressed  by  the  multitude  of 
minor  literary  personages,  among  whom  a  writer 
so  mediocre  as  Edmond  About  towered  as  a 
giant.  But  no  doubts  of  their  own  supreme 
importance  to  the  universe  appeared  to  beset 
these  young  gentlemen  :  — 

"  How  many  thousand  never  heard  the  name 
Of  Sidney  or  of  Spenser,  or  their  books  ? 
And  yet  brave  fellows,  and  presume  of  fame, 
And  think  to  bear  down  all  the  world  with  looks." 

One  was  irresistibly  reminded,  in  their  society, 
of  these  lines  of  old  Daniel ;  or  of  the  comfort 
able  self-classification  of  another  Frenchman, 
M.  Vestris,  the  dancer,  who  always  maintained 
that  there  were  but  three  really  great  men  in 
Europe  —  Voltaire,  Frederick  II.,  and  himself. 
We  talk  about  small  places  as  being  Little  Ped- 
lingtons,  but  it  sometimes  seems  as  if  the  Great 
Pedlingtons  were  the  smallest,  after  all,  because 
there  is  nobody  to  teach  them  humility.  Little 
Pedlington  at  least  shows  itself  apologetic  and 
even  uneasy ;  that  is  what  saves  it  to  reason 
and  common-sense.  But  fancy  a  Parisian  apolo 
gizing  for  Paris ! 

The  great  fear  of  those  who  demand  an  intel 
lectual  metropolis  is  provincialism  ;  but  we  must 
remember  that  the  word  is  used  in  two  wholly 
different  senses,  which  have  nothing  in  com- 


272     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

mon.  What  an  American  understands  by  pro 
vincialism  is  best  to  be  seen  in  the  little  French 
town,  some  imaginary  Tarascon  or  Carcas 
sonne,  where  the  notary  and  the  physician  and 
the  rentiers  sit  and  play  dominoes  and  feebly 
disport  themselves  in  a  benumbed  world  of 
petty  gossip.  But  what  the  Parisian  or  the 
Londoner  assumes  to  be  provincial  among  us 
turns  out  to  be  an  American  town,  perhaps  of 
the  same  size,  but  which  has  already  its  schools 
and  its  public  library  well  established,  and  is 
now  aiming  at  a  gallery  of  art  and  a  conserva 
tory  of  music.  To  confound  these  opposite 
extremes  under  one  name  is  like  confounding 
childhood  and  second  childhood ;  the  one  re 
presenting  all  promise,  the  other  all  despair. 
Mr.  Henry  James,  who  proves  his  innate  kind 
ness  of  heart  by  the  constancy  with  which  he  is 
always  pitying  somebody,  turns  the  full  fervor 
of  his  condolence  on  Hawthorne  for  dwelling 
amid  the  narrowing  influences  of  a  Concord 
atmosphere.  But  if  those  influences  gave  us 
"The  Scarlet  Letter"  and  Emerson's  "Essays," 
does  it  not  seem  a  pity  that  we  cannot  extend 
that  same  local  atmosphere,  as  President  Lin 
coln  proposed  to  do  with  Grant's  whiskey,  to 
some  of  our  other  generals  ? 

The  dweller  in  a  metropolis  has  the  advan 
tage,  if  such  it  be,  of  writing  immediately  for 


DO  WE  NEED  A  LITERARY  CENTRE?     273 

a  few  thousand  people,  all  whose  prejudices  he 
knows  and  perhaps  shares.  He  writes  to  a 
picked  audience  ;  but  he  who  dwells  in  a  coun 
try  without  a  metropolis  has  the  immeasurably 
greater  advantage  of  writing  for  an  audience 
which  is,  so  to  speak,  unpicked,  and  which, 
therefore,  includes  the  picked  one,  as  an  apple 
includes  its  core.  One  does  not  need  to  be  a 
very  great  author  in  America  'to  find  that  his 
voice  is  heard  across  a  continent  —  a  thing  more 
stimulating  and  more  impressive  to  the  imagi 
nation  than  the  morning  drum-beat  of  Great 
Britain.  In  a  few  years  the  humblest  of  the 
next  generation  of  writers  will  be  appealing  to 
a  possible  constituency  of  a  hundred  millions. 
He  who  writes  for  a  metropolis  may  uncon 
sciously  share  its  pettiness  ;  he  who  writes  for  a 
hundred  millions  must  feel  some  expansion  in 
his  thoughts,  even  though  his  and  theirs  be  still 
crude.  Keats  asked  his  friend  to  throw  a  copy 
of  "Endymion"  into  the  heart  of  the  African 
desert ;  is  it  not  better  to  cast  your  book  into 
a  vaster  region  that  is  alive  with  men  ? 

Cliques  lose  their  seeming  importance  where 
one  has  the  human  heart  at  his  door.  That 
calamity  which  Fontenelle  mourned,  the  loss  of 
so  many  good  things  by  their  being  spoken  only 
into  the  ear  of  some  fool,  can  never  happen  to 
what  is  written  for  a  whole  continent.  There 


274     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

will  be  a  good  auditor  somewhere,  and  the 
further  off,  the  more  encouraging.  When  your 
sister  or  your  neighbor  praises  your  work,  they 
may  be  suspected  of  partiality ;  when  the  news 
papers  commend,  the  critic  may  be  very  friendly 
or  very  juvenile ;  but  when  the  post  brings  you 
a  complimentary  letter  from  a  new-born  village 
in  Colorado,  you  become  conscious  of  an  audi 
ence.  Now,  suppose  the  intellectual  aspirations 
of  that  frontier  village  to  be  so  built  up  by 
schools,  libraries,  and  galleries  that  it  shall  be 
a  centre  of  thought  and  civilization  for  the 
whole  of  Colorado,  —  a  State  which  is  in  itself 
about  the  size  of  Great  Britain  or  Italy,  and 
half  the  size  of  Germany  or  France,  —  and  we 
shall  have  a  glimpse  at  a  state  of  things  worth 
more  than  a  national  metropolis.  The  collec 
tive  judgment  of  a  series  of  smaller  tribunals 
like  this  will  ultimately  be  worth  more  to  an 
author,  or  to  a  literature,  than  that  of  London 
or  Paris.  History  gives  us,  in  the  Greek 
states,  the  Italian  republics,  the  German  uni 
versity  towns,  some  examples  of  such  a  concur 
rent  intellectual  jurisdiction  ;  but  they  missed 
the  element  of  size,  the  element  of  democratic 
freedom,  the  element  of  an  indefinite  future. 
All  these  are  ours. 


THE  EQUATION  OF  FAME 

THE  aim  of  all  criticism  is  really  to  solve  the 
equation  of  fame  and  to  find  what  literary 
work  is  of  real  value.  For  convenience,  the 
critic  assumes  the  attitude  of  infallibility.  He 
really  knows  better  in  his  own  case,  being 
commonly  an  author  also.  The  curious  thing 
is  that,  by  a  sort  of  comity  of  the  profession, 
the  critic  who  is  an  author  assumes  that  other 
critics  are  infallible  also,  or  at  least  a  body 
worthy  of  vast  deference.  He  is  as  sensitive  to 
the  praise  or  blame  of  his  contemporaries  as  he 
would  have  them  toward  himself.  He  bows  his 
head  before  the  "  London  Press  "  or  the  "  New 
York  Press  "  as  meekly  as  if  he  did  not  know 
full  well  that  these  august  bodies  are  made  up 
of  just  such  weak  and  unstable  mortals  as  he 
knows  himself  to  be.  At  the  Savile  Club  in 
London  an  American  is  introduced  to  some 
beardless  youth,  and  presently,  when  some  slash 
ing  criticism  is  mentioned,  in  the  "  Academy  " 
or  the  "  Saturday  Review,"  the  fact  incidentally 
comes  out  that  his  companion  happened  to  write 
that  very  article.  "Never  again,"  the  visitor 
thinks,  "  shall  I  be  any  more  awed  by  what  I 


276    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

read  in  those  periodicals  than  if  it  had  appeared 
in  my  village  newspaper  at  home."  But  he 
goes  his  way,  and  in  a  month  is  looking  with 
as  much  deference  as  ever  for  the  "  verdict  of 
the  London  Press."  It  seems  a  tribute  to  the 
greatness  of  our  common  nature,  that  the  most 
ordinary  individuals  have  weight  with  us  as 
soon  as  there  are  enough  of  them  to  get  to 
gether  in  a  jury-box,  or  even  in  a  newspaper 
office,  and  pronounce  a  decision.  As  Chan 
cellor  Oxenstiern  sent  the  young  man  on  his 
travels  to  see  with  how  little  wisdom  the  world 
was  governed,  so  it  is  worth  while  for  every 
young  writer  to  visit  New  York  or  London,  that 
he  may  see  with  how  little  serious  consideration 
his  work  will  be  criticised.  The  only  advan 
tage  conferred  by  added  years  in  authorship  is 
that  one  learns  this  lesson  a  little  better,  though 
the  oldest  author  never  learns  it  very  well. 

But  apart  from  all  drawbacks  in  the  way  of 
haste  and  shallowness,  there  is  a  profounder 
difficulty  which  besets  the  most  careful  critical 
work.  It  inevitably  takes  the  color  of  the 
time ;  its  study  of  the  stars  is  astrology,  not 
astronomy,  to  adopt  Thoreau's  distinction. 
Heine  points  out,  in  his  essay  on  German 
Romanticism,  that  we  greatly  err  in  supposing 
that  Goethe's  early  fame  bore  much  comparison 
with  his  deserts.  He  was,  indeed,  praised  for 


THE   EQUATION   OF   FAME  277 

"  Werther  "  and  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,"  but 
the  romances  of  August  La  Fontaine  were  in 
equal  demand,  and  the  latter,  being  a  volu 
minous  writer,  was  much  more  in  men's  mouths. 
The  poets  of  the  period  were  Wieland  and 
Ramler ;  while  Kotzebue  and  Iffland  ruled  the 
stage.  Even  forty  years  ago,  I  remember  well 
it  was  considered  an  open  subject  of  discussion, 
whether  Goethe  or  Schiller  was  the  greater 
name  ;  and  Professor  Felton  of  Harvard  Uni 
versity  took  the  pains  to  translate  a  long  his 
tory  of  German  literature  by  Menzel,  the  one 
object  of  which  was  to  show  that  Goethe  was 
quite  a  secondary  figure,  and  not  destined  to 
any  lasting  reputation.  It  was  one  of  the 
objections  to  Margaret  Fuller,  in  the  cultivated 
Cambridge  circle  of  that  day,  that  she  spoke 
disrespectfully  of  Menzel  in  the  "  Dial,"  and 
called  him  a  Philistine  —  the  first  introduction 
into  English,  so  far  as  I  know,  of  that  word 
since  familiarized  by  Arnold  and  others. 

We  fancy  France  to  be  a  place  where,  if 
governments  are  changeable,  literary  fame, 
fortified  by  academies,  rests  on  sure  ground. 
But  Th^ophile  Gautier,  in  the  preface  to  his 
"  Les  Grotesques,"  says  just  the  contrary.  He 
declares  that  in  Paris  all  praise  or  blame  is 
overstated,  because,  in  order  to  save  the  trouble 
of  a  serious  opinion,  they  take  up  one  writer 


278    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

temporarily  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  rest. 
"  There  are,"  he  goes  on,  "  strange  fluctuations 
in  reputations,  and  aureoles  change  heads. 
After  death,  illuminated  foreheads  are  extin 
guished  and  obscure  brows  grow  bright.  Pos 
terity  means  night  for  some,  dawn  to  others." 
Who  would  to-day  believe,  he  asks,  that  the 
obscure  writer  Chapelain  passed  for  long  years 
as  the  greatest  poet,  not  alone  of  France,  but 
the  whole  world  ("  le  plus  grand  poete,  non 
seulement  de  France,  mais  du  monde  entier  "), 
and  that  nobody  less  potent  than  the  Duchesse 
de  Longueville  would  have  dared  to  go  to  sleep 
over  his  poem  of  "  La  Pucelle  "  ?  Yet  this  was 
in  the  time  of  Corneille,  Racine,  Moliere,  and 
La  Fontaine. 

Heine  points  out  that  it  is  not  enough  for  a 
poet  to  utter  his  own  sympathies  ;  he  must  also 
reach  those  of  his  audience.  The  audience,  he 
thinks,  is  often  like  some  hungry  Bedouin  Arab 
in  the  desert,  who  thinks  he  has  found  a  sack 
of  pease  and  opens  it  eagerly ;  but,  alas !  they 
are  only  pearls!  With  what  discontent  did 
the  audience  of  Emerson's  day  inspect  his  pre 
cious  stones !  Even  now  Matthew  Arnold 
shakes  his  head  over  them,  and  finds  Long 
fellow's  pleasing  little  poem  of  "  The  Bridge " 
worth  the  whole  of  Emerson.  When  we  con 
sider  that  Byron  once  accepted  meekly  his  own 


THE   EQUATION   OF   FAME  279 

alleged  inferiority  to  Rogers,  and  that  Southey 
ranked  himself  with  Milton  and  Virgil,  and 
only  with  half-reluctant  modesty  placed  him 
self  below  Homer ;  that  Miss  Anna  Seward  and 
her  contemporaries  habitually  spoke  of  Hayley 
as  "the  Mighty  Bard,"  and  passed  over  without 
notice  Hayley's  eccentric  dependent,  William 
Blake  ;  that  but  two  volumes  of  Thoreau's  writ 
ings  were  published,  greatly  to  his  financial 
loss,  during  his  lifetime,  and  eight  others, 
with  four  biographies  of  him,  since  his  death ; 
that  Willis's  writings  came  into  instant  accept 
ance,  while  Hawthorne's,  according  to  their 
early  publisher,  attracted  "  no  attention  what 
ever  ; "  that  Willis  indeed  boasted  to  Longfel 
low  of  making  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year  by 
his  pen,  when  Longfellow  wished  that  he  could 
earn  one  tenth  of  that  amount,  —  we  must  cer 
tainly  admit  that  the  equation  of  fame  may 
require  many  years  for  its  solution.  Fuller 
says  in  his  "  Holy  State  "  that  "  learning  hath 
gained  most  by  those  books  on  which  the  print 
ers  have  lost ;  "  and  if  this  is  true  of  learning, 
it  is  far  truer  of  that  incalculable  and  often 
perplexing  gift  called  genius. 

Young  Americans  write  back  from  London 
that  they  wish  they  had  gone  there  in  the 
palmy  days  of  literary  society  —  in  the  days 
when  Dickens  and  Thackeray  were  yet  alive, 


280     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

and  when  Tennyson  and  Browning  were  in 
their  prime,  instead  of  waiting  until  later  times, 
when  Rider  Haggard  and  Alfred  Austin  are 
regarded,  they  say,  as  serious  and  important 
authors.  But  just  so  men  looked  back  in  long 
ing  from  that  earlier  day  to  the  period  of  Scott 
and  Wordsworth,  and  so  further  and  further 
and  further.  It  is  easy  for  older  men  to  recall 
when  Thackeray  and  Dickens  were  in  some 
measure  obscured  by  now  forgotten  contem 
poraries,  like  Harrison  Ainsworth  and  G.  P. 
R.  James,  and  when  one  was  gravely  asked 
whether  he  preferred  Tennyson  to  Sterling  or 
Trench  or  Alford  or  Faber  or  Milnes.  It  is 
to  me  one  of  the  most  vivid  reminiscences 
of  my  Harvard  College  graduation  (in  1841) 
that,  having  rashly  ventured  upon  a  commence 
ment  oration  whose  theme  was  "Poetry  in  an 
Unpoetical  Age,"  I  closed  with  an  urgent  ap 
peal  to  young  poets  to  "  lay  down  their  Spenser 
and  Tennyson,"  and  look  into  life  for  them 
selves.  Professor  Edward  T.  Channing,  then 
the  highest  literary  authority  in  New  England, 
paused  in  amazement  with  uplifted  pencil  over 
this  combination  of  names.  "You  mean,"  he 
said,  "  that  they  should  neither  defer  to  the 
highest  authority  nor  be  influenced  by  the  low 
est  ? "  When  I  persisted,  with  the  zeal  of 
seventeen,  that  I  had  no  such  meaning,  but 


THE   EQUATION   OF   FAME  281 

regarded  them  both  as  among  the  gods,  he  said 
good-naturedly,  "  Ah  !  that  is  a  different  thing. 
I  wish  you  to  say  what  you  think.  I  regard 
Tennyson  as  a  great  calf,  but  you  are  entitled 
to  your  own  opinion."  The  oration  met  with 
much  applause  at  certain  passages,  including 
this  one ;  and  the  applause  was  just,  for  these 
passages  were  written  by  my  elder  sister,  who 
had  indeed  suggested  the  subject  of  the  whole 
address.  But  I  fear  that  its  only  value  to  pos 
terity  will  consist  in  the  remark  it  elicited 
from  the  worthy  professor ;  this  comment  af 
fording  certainly  an  excellent  milestone  for 
Tennyson's  early  reputation. 

It  is  worth  while  to  remember,  also,  that  this 
theory  of  calf  hood,  like  most  of  the  early  criti 
cisms  on  Tennyson,  had  a  certain  foundation 
in  the  affectations  and  crudities  of  these  first 
fruits,  long  since  shed  and  ignored.  That  was 
in  the  period  of  the  two  thin  volumes,  with 
their  poem  on  the  author's  room,  now  quotable 
from  memory  only  :  — 

"  Oh,  darling  room,  my  heart's  delight ! 
Dear  room,  the  apple  of  my  sight ! 
With  thy  two  couches,  soft  and  white, 
There  is  no  room  so  exquis/'te, 
No  little  room  so  warm  and  bright, 
Wherein  to  read,  wherein  to  write." 

I  do  not  count  it  to  the  discredit  of  my  mentor, 
after  the  lapse  of  half  a  century,  that  he  dis- 


282     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

cerned  in  this  something  which  it  is  now  the 
fashion  to  call  "veal."  Similar  lapses  helped 
to  explain  the  early  underestimate  of  the  Lake 
school  of  poets  in  England,  and  Margaret  Ful 
ler's  early  criticisms  on  Lowell.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  commonly  true  that  authors  tempo 
rarily  elevated,  in  the  first  rude  attempts  to 
solve  the  equation  of  fame,  have  afforded  some 
reason,  however  inadequate,  for  their  over-ap 
preciation.  .  Theophile  Gautier,  in  the  essay 
already  quoted,  says  that  no  man  entirely  dupes 
his  epoch,  and  there  is  always  some  basis  for 
the  shallowest  reputations,  though  what  is  truly 
admirable  may  find  men  insensible  for  a  time. 
And  Joubert,  always  profounder  than  Gautier, 
while  admitting  that  popularity  varies  with  the 
period  ("  la  vogue  des  livres  depend  du  gout  des 
siecles  "),  tells  us  also  that  only  what  is  excel 
lent  is  held  in  lasting  memory  ("la  me"moire 
n'aime  que  ce  qui  est  excellent"),  and  winds 
up  his  essay  on  the  qualities  of  the  writer  with 
the  pithy  motto,  "  Excel  and  you  will  live " 
("  Excelle  et  tu  vivras  ") ! 


AN   AMERICAN  TEMPERAMENT 

THE  recent  assertion  of  the  London  corre 
spondent  of  the  "New  York  Tribune,"  that 
Englishmen  like  every  American  to  be  an  Amer 
ican,  has  a  curious  interest  in  connection  with 
some  remarks  of  the  late  Matthew  Arnold, 
which  seem  to  look  in  an  opposite  direction. 
Lord  Houghton  once  told  me  that  the  earlier 
American  guests  in  London  society  were  often 
censured  as  being  too  English  in  appearance 
and  manner,  and  as  wanting  in  a  distinctive 
flavor  of  Americanism.  He  instanced  Ticknor 
and  Sumner;  and  we  can  all  remember  that 
there  were  at  first  similar  criticisms  on  Lowell. 
It  is  indeed  a  form  of  comment  to  which  all 
Americans  are  subject  in  England,  if  they  have 
the  ill-luck  to  have  color  in  their  cheeks  and 
not  to  speak  very  much  through  their  noses ; 
in  that  case  they  are  apt  to  pass  for  English 
men  by  no  wish  of  their  own,  and  to  be  sus 
pected  of  a  little  double-dealing  when  they  has 
ten  to  reveal  their  birthplace.  It  very  often 
turns  out  that  the  demand  for  a  distinctive 
Americanism  really  seeks  only  the  external 
peculiarities  that  made  Joaquin  Miller  and  Buf- 


284 

falo  Bill  popular ;  an  Americanism  that  can  at 
any  moment  be  annihilated  by  a  pair  of  scis 
sors.  It  is  something,  no  doubt,  to  be  allowed 
even  such  an  amount  of  nationality  as  this  ;  and 
Washington  Irving  attributed  the  English  curi 
osity  about  him  to  the  fact  that  he  held  a  quill 
in  his  fingers  instead  of  sticking  it  in  his  hair, 
as  was  expected. 

But  it  would  seem  that  Mr.  Arnold,  on  the 
other  hand,  disapproved  the  attempt  to  set  up 
any  claim  whatever  to  a  distinctive  American 
temperament ;  and  he  has  twice  held  up  one 
of  our  own  authors  for  reprobation  as  having 
asserted  that  the  American  is,  on  the  whole,  of 
lighter  build  and  has  "a  drop  more  of  nervous 
fluid "  than  the  Englishman.  This  is  not  the 
way,  he  thinks,  in  which  a  serious  literature  is 
to  be  formed.  But  it  turns  out  that  the  im 
mediate  object  of  the  writer  of  the  objection 
able  remark  was  not  to  found  a  literature,  but 
simply  to  utter  a  physiological  caution;  the 
object  of  the  essay  in  which  it  occurs  —  one 
called  "The  Murder  of  the  Innocents" J — being 
simply  to  caution  this  more  nervous  race  against 
overworking  their  children  in  school ;  an  aim 
which  was  certainly  as  far  as  possible  from  what 
Mr.  Arnold  calls  "  tall  talk  and  self -glorifica 
tion."  If  a  nation  is  not  to  be  saved  by  point- 

1  Out-Door  Papers,  p.  104. 


AN  AMERICAN  TEMPERAMENT       285 

ing  out  its  own  physiological  perils,  what  is  to 
save  it  ? 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  will  be  generally 
claimed  by  Americans,  I  fancy,  that  whatever 
else  their  much-discussed  nation  may  have,  it 
has  at  least  *Wel  oped  a  temperament  for  itself  ; 
"  an  ill-favored  thing,  but  mine  own,"  as  Touch 
stone  says  of  Audrey.  There  is  no  vanity  or 
self-assertion  involved  in  this,  any  more  than 
when  a  person  of  blonde  complexion  claims  not 
to  be  a  brunette  or  a  brunette  meekly  insists 
upon  not  being  regarded  as  fair-haired.  If  the 
American  is  expected  to  be  in  all  respects  the 
duplicate  of  the  Englishman,  and  is  only  charged 
with  inexpressible  inferiority  in  quality  and 
size,  let  us  know  it ;  but  if  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  of  transplantation  under  a  new  sky 
and  in  new  conditions  have  made  any  difference 
in  the  type,  let  us  know  that  also.  In  truth, 
the  difference  is  already  so  marked  that  Mr. 
Arnold  himself  concedes  it  at  every  step  in  his 
argument,  and  has  indeed  stated  -it  in  very 
much  the  same  terms  which  an  American  would 
have  employed.  In  a  paper  entitled  "  From 
Easter  to  August,"  l  he  says  frankly  :  "  Our 
count  ymen  [namely,  the  English],  with  a  thou 
sand  good  qualities,  are  really  perhaps  a  good 
deal  wanting  in  lucidity  and  flexibility ;  "  and 

1  Nineteenth  Century  for  September,  1887. 


286    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

again  in  the  same  essay  :  "  The  whole  Ameri 
can  nation  may  be  called  intelligent ;  that  is, 
quick."  This  would  seem  to  be  conceding  the 
very  point  at  issue  between  himself  and  the 
American  writer  whom  he  is  criticising. 

The  same  difference  of  temperament,  in  the 
direction  of  a  greater  quickness  —  what  the 
wit  of  Edmund  Quincy  once  designated  as 
"  specific  levity  "  —  on  the  part  of  Americans  is 
certainly  very  apparent  to  every  one  of  us  who 
visits  England ;  and  not  infrequently  makes 
itself  perceptible,  even  without  a  surgical  oper 
ation,,  to  our  English  visitors.  Professor  Tyn- 
dall  is  reported  to  have  said  —  and  if  he  did  not 
say  it,  some  one  else  pointed  it  out  for  him  — 
that,  whereas  in  his  London  scientific  lectures 
he  always  had  to  repeat  his  explanations  three 
times ;  first  telling  his  audience  in  advance 
what  his  experiments  were  to  accomplish,  then 
during  the  process  explaining  what  was  being 
accomplished,  and  then  at  last  recapitulating 
what  had  actually  been  done  ;  he  found  it  best, 
in  America,  to  omit  one,  if  not  two,  of  these 
expositions.  In  much  the  same  way,  the  direc 
tor  of  a  company  of  English  comedians  com 
plained  to  a  friend  of  mine  that  American  audi 
ences  laughed  a  great  deal  too  soon  for  them, 
and  took  the  joke  long  before  it  was  properly 
elucidated.  In  the  same  way,  an  American 


28; 

author,  who  had  formerly  been  connected  with 
the  "  St.  Nicholas  "  magazine,  was  told  by  a 
London  publisher  that  the  plan  of  it  was  all 
wrong.  "  These  pages  of  riddles  at  the  end, 
for  instance  :  no  child  would  ever  guess  them." 
And  though  the  American  assured  him  that 
they  were  guessed  regularly  every  month  in 
twenty  thousand  families,  the  Englishman  still 
shook  his  head.  Certainly  the  difference  be 
tween  the  national  temperament  will  be  doubted 
by  no  American  public  speaker  in  England  who 
has  had  one  of  his  hearers  call  upon  him  the 
next  morning  to  express  satisfaction  in  the 
clever  anecdote  which  it  had  taken  his  English 
auditor  a  night's  meditation  to  comprehend. 

It  is  impossible  to  overrate  the  value,  in 
developing  an  independent  national  feeling  in 
America,  of  the  prolonged  series  of  rather  un- 
amiable  criticisms  that  have  proceeded  from  the 
English  press  and  public  men  since  the  days  of 
Mrs.  Trollope  and  down  to  our  own  day.  It 
has  de-colonized  us  ;  and  all  the  long  agony  of 
the  Civil  War,  when  all  the  privileged  classes 
in  England,  after  denouncing  us  through  long 
years  for  tolerating  slavery,  turned  and  de 
nounced  us  yet  more  bitterly  for  abolishing 
it  at  the  cost  of  our  own  heart's  blood,  only 
completed  the  emancipation.  The  way  out  of 
provincialism  is  to  be  frankly  and  even  brutally 


288    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

criticised  ;  we  thus  learn  not  merely  to  see  our 
own  faults,  which  is  comparatively  easy,  but  to 
put  our  own  measure  on  the  very  authority 
that  condemns  us  ;  voir  le  monde,  c'est  juger 
les  juges.  We  thus  learn  to  trust  our  own  tem 
perament  ;  to  create  our  own  methods ;  or,  at 
least  to  select  our  own  teachers.  At  this  mo 
ment  we  go  to  France  for  our  .art  and  to  Ger 
many  for  our  science  as  completely  as  if  there 
were  no  such  nation  as  England  in  the  world. 
In  literature,  the  tie  is  far  closer  with  what 
used  to  be  called  the  mother  country,  and  this 
because  of  the  identity  of  language.  All  retro 
spective  English  literature  —  that  is,  all  litera 
ture  more  than  a  century  or  two  old  —  is  com 
mon  to  the  two  countries.  All  contemporary 
literature  cannot  yet  be  judged,  because  it  is 
contemporary.  The  time  may  come  when  not 
a  line  of  current  English  poetry  may  remain 
except  the  four  quatrains  hung  up  in  St.  Mar 
garet's  Church,  and  when  the  Matthew  Arnold 
of  Macaulay's  imaginary  New  Zealand  may 
find  with  surprise  that  Whittier  and  Lowell 
produced  something  more  worthy  of  that  acci 
dental  immortality  than  Browning  or  Tenny 
son.  The  time  may  come  when  a  careful  study 
of  even  the  despised  American  newspapers  may 
reveal  them  to  have  been  in  one  respect  nearer 
to  a  high  civilization  than  any  of  their  Euro- 


AN  AMERICAN  TEMPERAMENT       289 

pean  compeers  ;  since  the  leading  American 
literary  journals  criticise  their  own  contributors 
with  the  utmost  freedom,  while  there  does  not 
seem  to  be  a  journal  in  London  or  Paris  that 
even  attempts  that  courageous  candor.  To 
dwell  merely  on  the  faults  and  follies  of  a 
nascent  nation  is  idle  ;  vitality  is  always  hope 
ful.  To  complain  that  a  nation's  very  strength 
carries  with  it  plenty  of  follies  and  excesses  is, 
as  Joubert  says,  to  ask  for  a  breeze  that  shall 
have  the  attribute  of  not  blowing  ("demander 
du  vent  qui  n'ait  point  de  mobilite"  "). 


THE  SHADOW  OF  EUROPE 

WHEN  the  first  ocean  steamers  crossed  the 
Atlantic,  about  1838,  Willis  predicted  that  they 
would  only  make  American  literature  more 
provincial,  by  bringing  Europe  so  much  nearer 
than  before.  Yet  Emerson  showed  that  there 
was  an  influence  at  work  more  potent  than 
steamers,  and  the  colonial  spirit  in  our  literature 
began  to  diminish  from  his  time.  In  the  days 
of  those  first  ocean  voyages,  the  favorite  literary 
journal  of  cultivated  Americans  was  the  New 
York  "  Albion,"  which  was  conducted  expressly 
for  English  residents  on  this  continent ;  and  it 
was  considered  a  piece  of  American  audacity 
when  Horace  Greeley  called  Margaret  Fuller  to 
New  York,  that  the  "  Tribune  "  might  give  to 
our  literature  an  organ  of  its  own.  Later,  on 
the  establishment  of  "Putnam's  Magazine,"  in 
1853,  I  remember  that  Mr.  Charles  Anderson 
Dana,  then  assistant  editor  of  the  "  New  York 
Tribune,"  predicted  to  me  the  absolute  failure 
of  the  whole  enterprise.  "  Either  an  American 
magazine  will  command  no  respect,"  he  said, 
"or  it  must  be  better  than  "Blackwood"  or 
"Fraser,"  which  is  an  absurd  supposition."  But 


THE  SHADOW  OF  EUROPE  291 

either  of  our  great  illustrated  magazines  has 
now  more  readers  in  England  than  "  Eraser  "  or 
"Blackwood"  had  then  in  America  ;  and  to  this 
extent  Willis's  prediction  is  unfulfilled,  and  the 
shadow  of  Europe  is  lifted,  not  deepened,  over 
our  literature.  But  in  many  ways  the  glamour 
of  foreign  superiority  still  holds ;  and  we  still 
see  much  of  the  old  deferential  attitude  prevail 
ing.  Prince  Albert  said  of  Germany,  in  1859, 
that  its  rock  ahead  was  self-sufficiency.  In  our 
own  country,  as  to  literature  and  science,  to  say 
nothing  of  art,  our  rock  ahead  is  not  self-suffi 
ciency,  but  self -depreciation.  Men  still  smile 
at  the  congressman  who  said,  "  What  have  we 
to  do  with  Europe  ? "  but  I  sometimes  wish,  for 
the  credit  of  the  craft,  that  it  had  been  a  liter 
ary  man  who  said  it.  After  all,  it  was  only 
a  rougher  paraphrase  of  Napoleon's  equally 
trenchant  words  :  "  Cette  vieille  Europe  m'en- 
nuie." 

The  young  American  who  goes  to  London, 
and  finds  there  the  most  agreeable  literary 
society  in  the  world,  because  the  most  central 
ized  and  compact,  can  hardly  believe  at  first 
that  the  authors  around  him  are  made  of  the 
same  clay  with  those  whom  he  has  often  jostled 
on  the  sidewalk  at  home.  He  finds  himself 
dividing  his  scanty  hours  between  celebrated 
writers  on  the  one  side,  and  great  historic 


292    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

remains  on  the  other ;  as  I  can  remember,  one 
day,  to  have  weighed  a  visit  to  Darwin  against 
one  to  York  Minster,  and  later  to  have  post 
poned  Stonehenge,  which  seemed  likely  to 
endure,  for  Tennyson,  who  perhaps  might  not. 
The  young  American  sees  in  London,  to  quote 
Willis  again,  "whole  shelves  of  his  library 
walking  about  in  coats  and  gowns,"  and  they 
seem  for  the  moment  far  more  interesting  than 
the  similar  shelves  in  home-made  garments 
behind  him.  He  is  not  cured  until  he  is  some 
day  startled  with  the  discovery  that  there  are 
cultivated  foreigners  to  whom  his  own  world 
is  foreign,  and  therefore  fascinating ;  men  who 
think  the  better  of  him  for  having  known  Mark 
Twain,  and  women  who  are  unwearied  in  their 
curiosity  about  the  personal  ways  of  Longfel 
low.  Nay,  when  I  once  mentioned  to  that  fine 
old  Irish  gentleman,  the  late  Richard  D.  Webb, 
at  his  house  in  Dublin,  that  I  had  felt  a  thrill 
of  pleasure  on  observing  the  street  sign,  denot 
ing  Fishamble  Lane,  at  Cork,  and  recalling  the 
ballad  about  "Misthress  Judy  McCarty,  of 
Fishamble  Lane,"  he  pleased  me  by  saying  that 
he  had  felt  just  so  in  New  York,  when  he  saw 
the  name  of  Madison  Square,  and  thought  of 
Miss  Flora  McFlimsey.  So  our  modest  conti 
nent  had  already  its  storied  heroines  and  its 
hallowed  ground ! 


THE   SHADOW  OF  EUROPE  293 

There  are,  undoubtedly,  points  in  which 
Europe,  and  especially  England,  has  still  the 
advantage  of  America ;  such,  for  instance,  as 
weekly  journalism.  In  regard  to  printed  books 
there  is  also  still  an  advantage  in  quantity,  but 
not  in  quality ;  while  in  magazine  literature  the 
balance  seems  to  incline  just  now  the  other 
way.  I  saw  it  claimed  confidently,  not  long 
since,  that  the  English  magazines  had  "  more 
solid  value  "  than  our  own  ;  but  this  solidity  now 
consists,  I  should  say,  more  in  the  style  than 
in  the  matter,  and  is  a  doubtful  benefit,  like 
solidity  in  a  pudding.  When  the  writer  whom 
I  quote  went  on  to  cite  the  saying  of  a  young 
girl,  that  she  could  always  understand  an 
American  periodical,  but  never  opened  an 
English  one  without  something  unintelligible,  it 
seemed  to  me  a  bit  of  evidence  whose  bearing 
was  quite  uncertain.  It  reminded  me  of  a 
delightful  old  lady,  well  known  to  me,  who, 
when  taxed  by  her  daughter  with  reading  a  book 
quite  beyond  her  comprehension,  replied  :  "  But 
where  is  the  use  of  reading  a  book  that  you 
can  understand  ?  It  does  you  no  good."  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  English  magazines  are 
commonly  not  magazines  at  all,  in  the  American 
sense.  Mr.  M.  D.  Conway  once  well  said  that 
the  "Contemporary  Review"  and  the  "  Fort 
nightly  "  were  simply  circular  letters  addressed 


294    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

by  a  few  cultivated  gentlemen  to  those  belonging 
to  the  same  club.  It  is  not  until  a  man  knows 
himself  to  be  writing  for  a  hundred  thousand 
readers  that  he  is  compelled  to  work  out  his 
abstrusest  thought  into  clearness,  just  as  a  suf 
ficient  pressure  transforms  opaque  snow  into 
pellucid  ice.  In  our  great  American  magazines, 
history  and  science  have  commonly  undergone 
this  process,  and  the  reader  may  be  gratified, 
not  ashamed,  at  comprehending  them. 

The  best  remedy  for  too  profound  a  defer 
ence  toward  European  literary  work  is  to  test 
the  author  on  some  ground  with  which  we  in 
America  cannot  help  being  familiar.  It  is  this 
which  makes  a  book  of  travels  among  us,  or 
even  a  lecturing  trip,  so  perilous  for  a  foreign 
reputation ;  and  among  the  few  who  can  bear 
this  test  —  as  De  Tocqueville,  Von  Hoist,  the 
Comte  de  Paris  —  it  is  singularly  rare  to  find 
an  Englishman.  If  the  travellers  have  been 
thus  unfortunate,  how  much  more  those  who 
have  risked  themselves  on  cis-Atlantic  themes 
without  travelling.  No  living  English  writer 
stood  higher  in  America  than  Sir  Henry  Maine 
until  we  watched  him  as  he  made  the  perilous 
transition  from  "Ancient  Law"  to  modern 
"Popular  Government,"  and  saw  him  approach 
ing  what  he  himself  admits  to  be  the  most  im 
portant  theme  in  modern  history,  with  appar- 


THE   SHADOW  OF  EUROPE  295 

ently  but  some  half-dozen  authorities  to  draw 
upon,  —  the  United  States  Constitution,  the 
"Federalist,"  and  two  or  three  short  biogra 
phies.  Had  an  American  written  on  the  most 
unimportant  period  of  the  most  insignificant 
German  principality  with  a  basis  of  reading  no 
larger,  we  should  have  wished  that  his  national 
ity  had  been  kept  a  secret.  It  is  not  strange, 
on  such  a  method,  that  Maine  should  inform 
us  that  the  majority  of  the  present  state  gov 
ernments  were  formed  before  the  Union,  and 
that  only  half  the  original  thirteen  colonies 
held  slaves.  So  Mr.  John  A.  Doyle,  writing  an 
extended  history  of  American  colonization,  put 
into  his  first  volume  a  map  making  the  lines  of 
all  the  early  grants  run  north  and  south  instead 
of  east  and  west ;  and  this  having  been  received 
with  polite  incredulity,  gave  us  another  map 
depicting  the  New  England  colonies  in  1700, 
with  Plymouth  still  delineated  as  a  separate 
government,  although  it  had  been  united  with 
Massachusetts  eight  years  before  that  date. 

When  a  lady  in  a  London  drawing-room  sends, 
by  a  returning  New  Yorker,  an  urgent  message 
to  her  cousin  at  Colorado  Springs,  we  rather 
enjoy  it,  and  call  it  only  pretty  Fanny's  way ; 
she  is  not  more  ignorant  of  North  American 
geography  than  we  ourselves  may  be  of  that  of 
South  America.  But  when  we  find  that  Eng- 


296    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

lish  scholars  of  established  reputation  betray, 
in  treating  of  this  country,  defects  of  method 
that  seem  hopeless,  what  reverence  is  left  for 
those  who  keep  on  ground  that  we  do  not 
know?  In  time,  the  shadow  of  Europe  must 
lose  something  of  its  impressiveness.  Dr. 
Creighton,  in  his  preface  to  the  English  "  His 
torical  Review,"  counts  in  all  Americans  as 
merely  so  many  "outlying  English;"  but  it  is 
time  to  recognize  that  American  literature  is 
not,  and  never  again  can  be,  merely  an  outly 
ing  portion  of  the  literature  of  England. 


ON  TAKING  OURSELVES  SERIOUSLY 

TOLSTOI  says,  in  "  Anna  Kar6nina,"  that  no 
nation  will  ever  come  to  anything  unless  it  at 
taches  some  importance  to  itself.  ("Les  seules 
nations  qui  aient  de  1'avenir,  les  seules  qu'on 
puisse  nommer  historiques,  sont  celles  qui  sen- 
tent  I'importance  et  le  valeur  de  leur  institu 
tions.")  It  is  curious  that  ours  seems  to  be 
the  only  contemporary  nation  which  is  denied 
this  simple  privilege  of  taking  itself  seriously. 
What  is  criticised  in  us  is  not  so  much  that  our 
social  life  is  inadequate,  as  that  we  find  it  worth 
studying ;  not  so  much  that  our  literature  is 
insufficient,  as  that  we  think  it,  in  Matthew 
Arnold's  disdainful  phrase,  "  important."  In 
short,  we  are  denied  not  merely  the  pleasure 
of  being  attractive  to  other  people,  which  can 
easily  be  spared,  but  the  privilege  that  is  usu 
ally  conceded  to  the  humblest,  of  being  at  least 
interesting  to  ourselves. 

The  bad  results  of  this  are  very  plain.  They 
are,  indeed,  so  great  that  the  evils  which  were 
supposed  to  come  to  our  literature,  for  instance, 
from  the  absence  of  international  copyright, 
seem  trivial  in  comparison.  The  very  persons 


298     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

who  are  working  the  hardest  to  elevate  our  civ 
ilization  are  constantly  called  from  their  duties, 
and,  what  is  worse,  are  kept  in  a  constant  state 
of  subdued  exasperation,  by  the  denial  of  their 
very  right  to  do  these  duties.  "  My  work," 
says  Emerson,  "  may  be  of  no  importance,  but 
I  must  not  think  it  of  no  importance  if  I  would 
do  it  well."  Those  of  us  who  toiled  for  years 
to  remove  from  this  nation  the  stain  of  slavery, 
remember  how,  when  the  best  blood  of  our  kin 
dred  was  lavished  to  complete  the  sacrifice,  all 
the  intellectual  society  of  England  turned  upon 
us  and  reproached  us  for  the  deed.  "The 
greatest  war  of  principle  which  has  been  waged 
in  this  generation,"  wrote  Motley  in  one  of  his 
letters,  "  was  of  no  more  interest  to  her,  except 
as  it  bore  upon  the  cotton  question,  than  the 
wretched  little  squabbles  of  Mexico  or  South 
America."  1  And  so  those  Americans  who  are 
spending  their  lives  in  the  effort  to  remove  the 
very  defects  visible  in  our  letters,  our  arts,  our 
literature,  are  met  constantly  by  the  insolent 
assumption,  not  that  these  drawbacks  exist,  but 
that  they  are  not  worth  removing. 

How  magnificent,  for  instance,  is  the  work 
constantly  done  among  us,  by  private  and  pub 
lic  munificence  in  the  support  of  libraries  and 
schools.  Carlyle,  in  one  of  his  early  journals, 

1  Lrtters,  i.  373. 


ON  TAKING  OURSELVES  SERIOUSLY    299 

deplores  that  while  every  village  around  him 
has  its  place  to  lock  up  criminals,  not  one  has  a 
public  library.  In  the  State  of  Massachusetts 
this  condition  of  things  is  coming  to  be  reversed, 
since  many  villages  have  no  jail,  and  free  libra 
ries  will  soon  be  universal.  The  writer  is  at  this 
moment  one  of  the  trustees  of  three  admirable 
donations  just  given  by  a  young  man  under 
thirty-five  to  the  city  of  his  birth,  —  a  city  hall, 
a  public  library,  and  a  manual  training  school. 
He  is  not  a  man  of  very  large  fortune,  as  for 
tunes  go,  and  his  personal  expenditures  are  on 
a  very  modest  scale  ;  he  keeps  neither  yachts 
nor  race-horses  ;  his  name  never  appears  in  the 
lists  of  fashionables,  summer  or  winter  ;  but  he 
simply  does  his  duty  to  American  civilization  in 
this  way.  There  are  multitudes  of  others,  all 
over  the  land,  who  do  the  same  sort  of  thing ; 
they  are  the  most  essentially  indigenous  and 
American  type  we  have,  and  their  strength  is 
in  this,  that  they  find  their  standard  of  action 
not  abroad,  but  at  home ;  they  take  their  nation 
seriously.  Yet  this,  which  should  be  the  thing 
that  most  appeals  to  every  foreign  observer, 
is,  on  the  contrary,  the  very  thing  which  the 
average  foreign  observer  finds  most  offensive. 
"  Do  not  tell  me  only,"  says  Matthew  Arnold, 
"...  of  the  great  and  growing  number  of 
your  churches  and  schools,  libraries  and  news- 


300     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

papers  ;  tell  me  also  if  your  civilization  —  which 
is  the  grand  name  you  give  to  all  this  develop 
ment  —  tell  me  if  your  civilization  is  interest 
ing:' 

Set  aside  the  fact  of  transfer  across  an  ocean ; 
set  aside  the  spectacle  of  a  self-governing  peo 
ple  ;  if  there  is  no  interest  in  the  spectacle  of  a 
nation  of  sixty  million  people  laboring  with  all 
its  might  to  acquire  the  means  and  appliances 
of  civilized  life,  then  there  is  nothing  interest 
ing  on  earth.  A  hundred  years  hence,  the 
wonder  will  be,  not  that  we  Americans  attached 
so  much  importance,  at  this  stage,  to  these 
efforts  of  ours,  but  that  even  we  appreciated 
their  importance  so  little.  If  the  calculations 
of  Canon  Zincke  are  correct,  in  his  celebrated 
pamphlet,  the  civilization  which  we  are  organ 
izing  is  the  great  civilization  of  the  future.  He 
computes  that  in  1980  the  English-speaking 
population  of  the  globe  will  be,  at  the  present 
rate  of  progress,  one  billion  ;  and  that  of  this 
number,  eight  hundred  million  will  dwell  in  the 
United  States.  Now,  all  the  interest  we  take 
in  our  schools,  colleges,  libraries,  galleries,  is 
but  preliminary  work  in  founding  this  great 
future  civilization.  Toils  and  sacrifices  for  this 
end  may  be  compared,  as  Longfellow  compares 
the  secret  studies  of  an  author,  to  the  sub 
merged  piers  of  a  bridge  :  they  are  out  of  sight, 


ON  TAKING  OURSELVES  SERIOUSLY    301 

but  without  them  no  structure  can  endure.  If 
American  society  is  really  unimportant,  and  is 
foredoomed  to  fail,  all  these  efforts  will  go  with 
it ;  but  if  it  has  a  chance  of  success,  these  are 
to  be  its  foundations.  If  they  are  to  be  laid, 
they  must  be  laid  seriously.  "  No  man  can  do 
anything  well,"  says  Emerson,  "  who  does  not 
think  that  what  he  does  is  the  centre  of  the 
visible  universe." 

There  is  a  prevailing  theory,  which  seems  to 
me  largely  flavored  with  cant,  that  we  must 
accept  with  the  utmost  humility  all  foreign 
criticism,  because  it  represents  a  remoter  tri 
bunal  than  our  own.  But  the  fact  still  remains, 
that  while  some  things  in  art  and  literature  are 
best  judged  from  a  distance,  other  things  — 
including  the  whole  department  of  local  color 
ing —  can  be  only  judged  near  home.  The 
better  the  work  is  done,  in  this  aspect,  the  more 
essential  it  is  that  it  should  be  viewed  with 
knowledge.  Looking  at  some  marine  sketches 
by  a  teacher  of  a  good  deal  of  note,  the  other 
day,  I  was  led  to  point  out  the  fact  that  she 
had  given  her  schooner  a  jib,  but  had  attached 
it  to  no  bowsprit,  and  had  anchored  a  whole 
fleet  of  dories  by  the  stern  instead  of  the  bow 
When  I  called  the  artist's  attention  to  these 
peculiarities,  the  simple  answer  was  :  "  I  know 
nothing  whatever  about  boats.  I  painted  only 


302    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

what  I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw."  In  the  same 
way  one  can  scarcely  open  a  foreign  criticism 
on  an  American  book  without  seeing  that, 
however  good  may  be  the  abstract  canons  of 
criticism  adopted,  the  detailed  comment  is  as 
confused  as  if  a  landsman  were  writing  about 
seamanship.  When,  for  instance,  a  vivacious 
Londoner  like  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  attempts  to 
deal  with  that  profound  imaginative  creation, 
Arthur  Dimmesdale,  in  the  "  Scarlet  Letter," 
he  fails  to  comprehend  him  from  an  obvious 
and  perhaps  natural  want  of  acquaintance  with 
the  whole  environment  of  the  man.  To  Mr. 
Lang  he  is  simply  a  commonplace  clerical  Love 
lace,  a  dissenting  minister  caught  in  a  shabby 
intrigue.  But  if  this  clever  writer  had  known 
the  Puritan  clergy  as  we  know  them,  the  high- 
priests  of  a  Jewish  theocracy,  with  the  whole 
work  of  God  in  a  strange  land  resting  on  their 
shoulders,  he  would  have  comprehended  the 
awful  tragedy  in  this  tortured  soul,  and  would 
have  seen  in  him  the  profoundest  and  most 
minutely  studied  of  all  Hawthorne's  characteri 
zations.  The  imaginary  offender  for  whom  that 
great  author  carried  all  winter,  as  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne  told  me,  "a  knot  in  his  forehead,"  is 
not  to  be  viewed  as  if  his  tale  were  a  mere 
chapter  out  of  the  "  M^moires  de  Casanova." 
When,  at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  Isaiah 


ON  TAKING  OURSELVES  SERIOUSLY    303 

Thomas  founded  the  American  Antiquarian  So 
ciety,  he  gave  it  as  one  of  his  avowed  objects 
"that  the  library  should  contain  a  complete 
collection  of  the  works  of  American  authors." 
There  was  nothing  extravagant,  at  that  time, 
in  the  supposition  that  a  single  library  of  mod 
erate  size  might  do  this  ;  and  the  very  impos 
sibility  of  such  an  inclusion,  at  this  day,  is  in 
part  the  result  of  the  honest  zeal  with  which 
Isaiah  Thomas  recognized  the  "  importance " 
of  our  nascent  literature.  A  disparaging  opin 
ion  of  any  of  these  American  books,  or  of  all 
of  them,  does  no  more  harm  than  the  opinion 
of  Pepys,  that  "Comus  "  Was  "an  insipid,  ridic 
ulous  play."  In  many  cases  the  opinion  will 
be  well  deserved ;  in  few  cases  will  it  do  any 
permanent  harm.  Since  Emerson,  we  have 
ceased  to  be  colonial,  and  have  therefore  ceased 
to  be  over-sensitive.  The  only  danger  is  that, 
Emerson  being  dead,  there  should  be  a  slight 
reaction  toward  colonial  diffidence  once  more ; 
that  we  should  again  pass  through  the  apolo 
getic  period ;  that  we  should  cease  for  a  time  to 
take  ourselves  seriously. 


A  COSMOPOLITAN   STANDARD 

IT  has  lately  become  the  fashion  in  the  United 
States  to  talk  of  the  cosmopolitan  standard  as 
the  one  thing  needful ;  to  say  that  formerly 
American  authors  were  judged  by  their  own 
local  tribunals,  but  henceforth  they  must  be 
appraised  by  the  world's  estimate.  The  trouble 
is  that  for  most  of  those  who  reason  in  this 
way,  cosmopolitanism  does  not  really  mean  the 
world's  estimate,  but  only  the  judgment  of 
Europe — a  judgment  in  which  America  itself 
is  to  have  no  voice.  Like  the  trade-winds 
which  so  terrified  the  sailors  of  Columbus,  it 
blows  only  from  the  eastward.  There  is  no 
manner  of  objection  to  cosmopolitanism,  if  the 
word  be  taken  in  earnest.  There  is  something 
fine  in  the  thought  of  a  federal  republic  of  let 
ters,  a  vast  literary  tribunal  of  nations,  in  which 
each  nation  has  a  seat ;  but  this  is  just  the  kind 
of  cosmopolitanism  which  these  critics  do  not 
seek.  They  seek  merely  a  far-off  judgment, 
and  this  is  no  better  than  a  local  tribunal ;  in 
some  respects  it  is  worse.  The  remotest  stand 
ard  of  judgment  that  I  ever  encountered  was 
that  of  the  late  Professor  Ko-Kun-Hua,  of  Har- 


A  COSMOPOLITAN  STANDARD        305 

vard  University.  There  was  something  deli 
cious  in  looking  into  his  serene  and  inscrutable 
face,  and  in  trying  to  guess  at  the  operations 
of  a  highly  trained  mind,  to  which  the  laurels 
of  Plato  and  Shakespeare  were  as  absolutely 
unimportant  as  those  of  the  Sweet  Singer  of 
Michigan  ;  yet  the  tribunal  which  he  afforded 
could  hardly  be  called  cosmopolitan.  He  un 
doubtedly  stood,  however,  for  the  oldest  civili 
zation  ;  and  it  seemed  trivial  to  turn  from  his 
serene  Chinese  indifference,  and  attend  to  chil 
dren  of  a  day  like  the  "  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  "  and  the  "  Saturday  Review."  If  we 
are  to  recognize  a  remote  tribunal,  let  us  by 
all  means  prefer  one  that  has  some  maturity 
about  it. 

But  it  is  worth  while  to  remember  that,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  men  who  created  the  Ameri 
can  government  gave  themselves  very  little  con 
cern  about  cosmopolitanism,  but  simply  went 
about  their  own  work.  They  took  hints  from 
older  nations,  and  especially  from  the  mother 
country,  but  they  acknowledged  no  jurisdiction 
there.  The  consensus  of  the  civilized  world, 
then  and  for  nearly  a  century  after,  viewed  the 
American  government  as  a  mere  experiment, 
and  republican  institutions  as  a  bit  of  short 
lived  folly ;  yet  the  existence  of  the  new  nation 
gave  it  a  voice  henceforth  in  every  tribunal  call- 


306    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ing  itself  cosmopolitan.  Henceforth  that  word 
includes  the  judgment  of  the  New  World  on 
the  Old,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Old  World  on 
the  New ;  and  when  we  construe  literary  cosmo 
politanism  in  the  same  way,  we  shall  be  on  as 
firm  ground  in  literature  as  in  government. 

So  long  as  we  look  merely  outside  of  ourselves 
for  a  standard,  we  are  as  weak  as  if  we  looked 
merely  inside  of  ourselves ;  probably  weaker, 
for  timidity  is  weaker  than  even  the  arrogance 
of  strength.  There  is  no  danger  that  the  for 
eign  judgment  will  not  duly  assert  itself;  the 
danger  is  that  our  own  self -estimate  will  be  too 
apologetic.  What  with  courtesy  and  good 
nature,  and  a  lingering  of  the  old  colonialism, 
we  are  not  yet  beyond  the  cringing  period  in 
our  literary  judgment.  The  obeisance  of  all 
good  society  in  London  before  a  successful  cir 
cus-manager  from  America  was  only  a  shade 
more  humiliating  than  the  reverential  attention 
visible  in  the  American  press  when  Matthew 
Arnold  was  kind  enough  to  stand  on  tiptoe  upon 
our  lecture  platform  and  apply  his  little  mea 
suring-tape  to  the  great  shade  of  Emerson.  I 
should  like  to  see  in  our  literature  some  of  the 
honest  self-assertion  shown  by  Senator  Tracy  of 
Litchfield,  Connecticut,  during  Washington's 
administration,  in  his  reply  to  the  British  min 
ister's  praises  of  Mrs.  Oliver  Wolcott's  beauty. 


A  COSMOPOLITAN  STANDARD         307 

"Your  countrywoman,"  said  the  Englishman, 
"would  be  admired  at  the  Court  of  St.  James." 
"Sir,"  said  Tracy,  "she  is  admired  even  on 
Litchfield  Hill." 

In  that  recent  book  of  aphorisms  which  has 
given  a  fresh  impulse  to  the  fading  fame  of  Dr. 
Channing,  he  points  out  that  the  hope  of  the 
world  lies  in  the  fact  that  parents  can  not  make 
of  their  children  what  they  will.  It  is  equally 
true  of  parent  nations.  How  easily  we  accept 
the  little  illusions  offered  us  by  our  elders  in 
the  world's  literature,  almost  forgetting  that  two 
and  two  make  four,  m  the  innocent  delight  with 
which  they  inspire  us !  In  re-reading  Scott's 
"  Old  Mortality  "  the  other  day,  I  was  pleased 
to  find  myself  still  carried  away  by  the  author's 
own  grandiloquence,  where  he  describes  the 
approach  of  Claverhouse  and  his  men  to  the 
castle  of  Tillietudlem.  "  The  train  was  long  and 
imposing,  for  there  were  about  two  hundred 
and  fifty  horse  upon  the  march."  Two  hundred 
and  fifty !  Yet  I  read  it  for  the  moment  with 
as  little  demur  at  these  trivial  statistics  as  if 
our  own  Sheridan  had  never  ridden  out  of  Win 
chester  at  the  head  of  ten  thousand  cavalry. 
It  is  the  same  with  all  literature  :  we  are  asked 
to  take  Europe  at  Europe's  own  valuation,  and 
then  to  take  America  at  Europe's  valuation 
also ;  and  whenever  we  speak  of  putting  an 


3o8     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

American  valuation  upon  the  four  quarters  of 
the  globe,  we  are  told  that  this  will  not  do ; 
this  is  not  cosmopolitan. 

We  are  too  easily  misled,  in  exhorting  Ameri 
can  authors  to  a  proper  humility,  because  we 
forget  that  the  invention  of  printing  has  in  a 
manner  placed  all  nations  on  a  level.  Litera 
ture  is  the  only  art  whose  choicest  works  are 
easily  transportable.  Once  secure  a  public 
library  in  every  town,  —  a  condition  now  in  pro 
cess  of  fulfilment  in  our  older  American  States, 
—  and  every  bright  boy  or  girl  has  a  literary 
Louvre  and  Vatican  at  command.  Given  a  taste 
for  literature,  and  there  are  at  hand  all  the 
masters  of  the  art  —  Plato  and  Homer,  Cicero 
and  Horace,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe. 
Travel  is  still  needed,  but  not  for  books  —  only 
for  other  forms  of  art,  for  variety  of  acquaint 
anceship,  and  for  the  habit  of  dealing  with  men 
and  women  of  many  nationalities.  The  most 
fastidious  American  in  Europe  should  not  look 
with  shame,  but  with  pride  and  hope,  upon  those 
throngs  of  his  fellow-countrymen  whom  he  sees 
crowding  the  art  galleries  of  Europe,  looking 
about  them  as  ignorantly,  if  you  please,  as  the 
German  barbarians  when  they  entered  Rome. 
It  is  not  so  hard  to  gain  culture  ;  the  thing 
almost  impossible  to  obtain,  unless  it  be  born  in 
us,  is  the  spirit  of  initiative,  of  self-confidence. 


A  COSMOPOLITAN  STANDARD         309 

That  is  the  gift  with  which  great  nations  begin ; 
we  now  owe  our  chief  knowledge  of  Roman 
literature  and  art  to  the  descendants  of  those 
Northern  barbarians. 

And  it  must  be  kept  in  view,  finally,  that  a 
cosmopolitan  tribunal  is  at  best  but  a  court  of 
appeal,  and  is  commonly  valuable  in  proportion 
as  the  courts  of  preliminary  jurisdiction  have 
done  their  duty.  The  best  preparation  for  going 
abroad  is  to  know  the  worth  of  what  one  has 
seen  at  home.  I  remember  to  have  been  im 
pressed  with  a  little  sense  of  dismay,  on  first 
nearing  the  shores  of  Europe,  at  the  thought 
of  what  London  and  Paris  might  show  me  in 
the  way  of  great  human  personalities ;  but  I 
said  to  myself,  "  To  one  who  has  heard  Emer 
son  lecture,  and  Parker  preach,  and  Garrison 
thunder,  and  Phillips  persuade,  there  is  no  rea 
son  why  Darwin  or  Victor  Hugo  should  pass  for 
more  than  mortal ; "  and  accordingly  they  did 
not.  We  shall  not  prepare  ourselves  for  a  cos 
mopolitan  standard  by  ignoring  our  own  great 
names  or  undervaluing  the  literary  tradition 
that  has  produced  them.  When  Stuart  Newton, 
the  artist,  was  asked,  on  first  arriving  in  London 
from  America,  whether  he  did  not  enjoy  the 
change,  he  answered  honestly,  "  I  here  see  such 
society  occasionally  as  I  saw  at  home  all  the 
time."  At  this  day  the  self-respecting  American 


3io     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

sometimes  hears  admissions  in  Europe  which 
make  him  feel  that  we  are  already  creating  a 
standard,  not  waiting  to  be  judged  by  one.  The 
most  variously  accomplished  literary  critic  in 
England,  the  late  Mark  Pattison,  once  said  to 
me  of  certain  American  books  then  lately  pub 
lished,  "  Is  such  careful  writing  appreciated  in 
the  United  States  ?  It  would  not  be  in  Eng 
land."  On  the  shores  of  a  new  continent,  then, 
there  was  already  a  standard  which  was  in  one 
respect  better  than  the  cosmopolitan. 


THE   LITERARY   PENDULUM 

"AFTER  all,"  said  the  great  advocate  Rufus 
Choate,  "  a  book  is  the  only  immortality." 
That  was  the  lawyer's  point  of  view;  but  the 
author  knows  that,  even  after  the  book  is  pub 
lished,  the  immortality  is  often  still  to  seek.  In 
the  depressed  moods  of  the  advocate  or  the 
statesman,  he  is  apt  to  imagine  himself  as  writ 
ing  a  book ;  and  when  this  is  done,  it  is  easy 
enough  to  carry  the  imagination  a  step  further 
and  to  make  the  work  a  magnificent  success  ; 
just  as,  if  you  choose  to  fancy  yourself  a  for 
eigner,  it  is  as  easy  to  be  a  duke  as  a  tinker. 
But  the  professional  author  is  more  often  like 
Christopher  Sly,  whose  dukedom  is  in  dreams  ; 
and  he  is  fortunate  if  he  does  not  say  of  his 
own  career  with  Christopher :  "  A  very  excel 
lent  piece  of  work,  good  madam  lady.  Would 
't  were  done !  " 

In  our  college  days  we  are  told  that  men 
change,  while  books  remain  unchanged.  But  in 
a  very  few  years  we  find  that  the  circle  of  books 
alters  as  swiftly  and  strangely  as  that  of  the 
men  who  write  or  the  boys  who  read  them. 
When  the  late  Dr.  Walter  Channing,  of  Boston, 


312     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

was  revisiting  in  old  age  his  birthplace,  New 
port,  R.  L,  he  requested  me  to  take  him  to  the 
Redwood  Library,  of  which  he  had  been  libra 
rian  some  sixty  years  before.  He  presently 
asked  the  librarian,  with  an  eagerness  at  first 
inexplicable,  for  a  certain  book,  whose  name  I 
had  never  before  heard.  With  some  difficulty 
the  custodian  hunted  it  up,  entombed  beneath 
other  dingy  folios  in  a  dusty  cupboard.  Nobody, 
he  said,  had  ever  before  asked  for  it  during  his 
administration.  "  Strange  ! "  said  Dr.  Channing, 
turning  over  the  leaves.  "  This  was  in  my  time 
the  show-book  of  the  collection ;  people  came 
here  purposely  to  see  it."  He  closed  it  with  a 
sigh,  and  it  was  replaced  in  its  crypt.  Dr. 
Channing  is  dead,  the  librarian  who  unearthed 
the  book  is  since  dead,  and  I  have  forgotten  its 
very  title.  In  all  coming  time,  probably,  its 
repose  will  be  as  undisturbed  as  that  of  Hans 
Andersen's  forgotten  Christmas-tree  in  the  gar 
ret.  Did,  then,  the  authorship  of  that  book  give 
to  its  author  so  very  substantial  a  hold  on  im 
mortality  ? 

But  there  is  in  literary  fame  such  a  thing  as 
recurrence  —  a  swing  of  the  pendulum  which 
at  first  brings  despair  to  the  young  author,  yet 
yields  him  at  last  his  only  consolation.  "  L'eter- 
nit6  est  une  pendule,"  wrote  Jacques  Bridaine, 
that  else  forgotten  Frenchman  whose  phrase 


THE  LITERARY   PENDULUM  313 

gave  Longfellow  the  hint  of  his  "Old  Clock 
on  the  Stairs."  When  our  professors  informed 
us  that  books  were  a  permanent  treasure,  those 
of  us  who  were  studious  at  once  pinched  our 
selves  to  buy  books  ;  but  the  authors  for  whom 
we  made  economies  in  our  wardrobe  are  now  as 
obsolete,  very  likely,  as  the  garments  that  we 
exchanged  for  them.  No  undergraduate  would 
now  take  off  my  hands  at  half  price,  probably, 
the  sets  of  Lander's  "  Imaginary  Conversations  " 
and  Coleridge's  "  Literary  Remains,"  which  it 
once  seemed  worth  a  month  of  threadbare  el 
bows  to  possess.  I  lately  called  the  attention  of 
a  professor  of  philology  to  a  tolerably  full  set 
of  Thomas  Taylor's  translations,  and  found  that 
he  had  never  heard  of  even  the  name  of  that  ser 
vant  of  obscure  learning.  In  college  we  studied 
Cousin  and  Jouffroy,  and  he  who  remembers 
the  rise  and  fall  of  that  ambitious  school  of 
French  eclectics  can  hardly  be  sure  of  the  per 
manence  of  Herbert  Spencer,  the  first  man 
since  their  day  who  has  undertaken  to  explain 
the  whole  universe  of  being.  How  we  used  to 
read  Hazlitt,  whose  very  name  is  so  forgotten 
that  an  accomplished  author  has  lately  duplicated 
the  title  of  his  most  remarkable  book,  "  Liber 
Amoris,"  without  knowing  that  it  had  ever  been 
used !  What  a  charm  Irving  threw  about  the 
literary  career  of  Roscoe  ;  but  who  now  recog- 


3H    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

nizes  his  name  ?  Ardent  youths,  eager  to  com 
bine  intellectual  and  worldly  success,  fed  them 
selves  in  those  days  on  "  Pelham  "  and  "Vivian 
Grey  ;  "  but  these  works  are  not  now  even  in 
cluded  in  "  Courses  of  Reading  "  —  that  last 
infirmity  of  noble  fames.  One  may  look  in 
vain  through  the  vast  mausoleum  of  Bartlett's 
"  Dictionary  of  Quotations  "  for  even  that  one 
maxim  in  respect  to  costume,  which  was  "  Pel- 
ham's  "  bid  for  immortality. 

Literary  fame  is,  then,  by  no  means  a  fixed 
increment,  but  a  series  of  vibrations  of  the  pen 
dulum.  Happy  is  that  author  who  comes  to  be 
benefited  by  an  actual  return  of  reputation  — 
as  athletes  get  beyond  the  period  of  breathless- 
ness,  and  come  to  their  "second  wind."  Yet 
this  is  constantly  happening.  Emerson,  visit 
ing  Landor  in  1847,  wrote  in  his  diary,  "He 
pestered  me  with  Southey  —  but  who  is 
Southey  ?  "  Now,  Southey  had  tasted  fame 
more  promptly  than  his  greater  contemporaries, 
and  liked  the  taste  so  well  that  he  held  his 
own  poems  far  superior  to  those  of  Words 
worth,  and  wrote  of  them,  "  With  Virgil,  with 
Tasso,  with  Homer,  there  are  fair  grounds  of 
comparison."  Then  followed  a  period  during 
which  the  long  shades  of  oblivion  seemed  to 
have  closed  over  the  author  of  "  Madoc  "  and 
"Kehama."  Behold!  in  1886  the  "  Pall  Mall 


THE  LITERARY  PENDULUM          315 

Gazette,"  revising  through  "  the  best  critics  " 
Sir  James  Lubbock's  "  Hundred  Best  Books," 
dethrones  Byron,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  Lamb,  and 
Landor ;  omits  them  all,  and  reinstates  the  for 
gotten  Southey  once  more.  Is  this  the  final 
award  of  fate  ?  No  :  it  is  simply  the  inevitable 
swing  of  the  pendulum. 

Southey,  it  would  seem,  is  to  have  two  in 
nings  ;  perhaps  one  day  it  will  yet  be  Hayley's 
turn.  "Would  it  please  you  very  much,"  asks 
Warrington  of  Pendennis,  "  to  have  been  the 
author  of  Hayley's  verses  ? "  Yet  Hayley  was, 
in  his  day,  as  Southey  testifies,  "  by  popular 
election  the  king  of  the  English  poets;"  and 
he  was  held  so  important  a  personage,  that  he 
received,  what  probably  no  other  author  ever 
has  won,  a  large  income  for  the  last  twelve 
years  of  his  life  in  return  for  the  prospective 
copyright  of  his  posthumous  memoirs.  Miss 
Anna  Seward,  writing  in  1786,  ranks  him,  with 
the  equally  forgotten  Mason,  as  "  the  two  fore 
most  poets  of  the  day ;  "  she  calls  Hayley's 
poems  "  magnolias,  roses,  and  amaranths,"  and 
pronounces  his  esteem  a  distinction  greater  than 
monarchs  hold  it  in  their  power  to  bestow.  But 
probably  nine  out  of  ten  who  shall  read  these 
lines  will  have  to  consult  a  biographical  diction 
ary  to  find  out  who  Hayley  was  ;  while  his  odd 
t,  William  Blake,  whom  the  fine  ladies  of 


316     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  day  wondered  at  Hayley  for  patronizing,  has 
since  become  a  favorite  in  literature  and  art. 

So  strong  has  been  the  recent  swing  of  the 
pendulum  in  favor  of  what  is  called  realism  in 
fiction,  it  is  very  possible  that  if  Hawthorne's 
"Twice-told  Tales  "  were  to  appear  for  the  first 
time  to-morrow  they  would  attract  no  more 
attention  than  they  did  more  than  fifty  years 
ago.  Mr.  Stockton  has  lately  made  a  similar 
suggestion  as  to  the  stories  of  Edgar  Poe.  Per 
haps  this  gives  half  a  century  as  the  approximate 
measure  of  the  variations  of  fate  —  the  peri 
odicity  of  the  pendulum.  On  the  other  hand, 
Jane  Austen,  who  was  for  many  years  regarded 
by  readers  as  an  author  suited  to  desolate  islands 
or  long  and  tedious  illnesses,  has  now  come  to 
be  the  founder  of  a  school ;  and  must  look  down 
benignly  from  heaven  to  see  the  brightest  minds 
assiduously  at  work  upon  that  "  little  bit  of 
ivory,  two  inches  square "  by  which  she  sym 
bolized  her  novels.  Then  comes  in,  as  an  alter 
ative,  the  strong  Russian  tribe,  claimed  by  real 
ists  as  real,  by  idealists  as  ideal,  and  perhaps 
forcing  the  pendulum  in  a  new  direction.  No 
thing,  surely,  since  Hawthorne's  death,  has 
given  us  so  much  of  the  distinctive  flavor  of  his 
genius  as  Tourgueneff's  extraordinary  "  Poems 
in  Prose  "  in  the  admirable  version  of  Mrs.  T. 
S.  Perry. 


THE  LITERARY  PENDULUM  317 

But  the  question,  after  all,  recurs :  Why 
should  we  thus  be  slaves  of  the  pendulum  ? 
Why  should  we  not  look  at  these  vast  varia 
tions  of  taste  more  widely,  and,  as  it  were,  as 
tronomically,  to  borrow  Thoreau's  phrase  ?  In 
the  mind  of  a  healthy  child  there  is  no  incon 
gruity  between  fairy  tales  and  the  Rollo  Books  ; 
and  he  passes  without  disquiet  from  the  fancied 
heart-break  of  a  tin  soldier  to  Jonas  mending  an 
old  rat-trap  in  the  barn.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the 
literary  fluctuation  occurs  equally  in  this  case 
and  in  ours,  but  under  different  conditions.  It 
may  be  that,  in  the  greater  mobility  of  the 
child's  nature,  the  pendulum  can  swing  to  and 
fro  in  half  a  second  of  time  and  without  the 
consciousness  of  effort ;  while  in  the  case  of 
older  readers,  the  same  vibration  takes  half  a 
century  of  time  and  the  angry  debate  of  a 
thousand  journals. 


THE    SYMPATHY    OF  RELIGIONS1 

OUR  true  religious  life  begins  when  we  dis 
cover  that  there  is  an  Inner  Light,  not  infallible 
but  invaluable,  which  "  lighteth  every  man  that 
cometh  into  the  world."  Then  we  have  some 
thing  to  steer  by ;  and  it  is  chiefly  this,  and  not 
an  anchor,  that  we  need.  The  human  soul,  like 
any  other  noble  vessel,  was  not  built  to  be 
anchored,  but  to  sail.  An  anchorage  may,  in 
deed,  be  at  times  a  temporary  need,  in  order 
to  make  some  special  repairs,  or  to  take  fresh 
cargo  in ;  yet  the  natural  destiny  of  both  ship 
and  soul  is  not  the  harbor,  but  the  ocean ;  to 
cut  with  even  keel  the  vast  and  beautiful  ex 
panse  ;  to  pass  from  island  on  to  island  of  more 

1  This  essay  was  originally  written  during  a  winter  spent 
on  the  island  of  Fayal,  1855-56,  being  then  intended  as  a 
chapter  in  a  larger  work,  which  was  never  completed.  It  was 
read  as  a  lecture  some  years  later  in  a  course  conducted  by 
the  Free  Religious  Association  in  Boston ;  and  was  then 
printed,  with  some  additions,  in  pamphlet  form.  It  has  since 
gone  through  various  editions,  in  America  and  England,  and 
is  still  doing  service  as  a  tract  in  the  "  Unity  Mission  "  series, 
published  in  Chicago.  A  special  edition  was  also  printed  for 
the  "  Parliament  of  Religions  "  held  at  Chicago,  in  September, 
1893.  A  French  translation,  by  Mrs.  Maria  E.  McKaye,  ap 
peared  at  Paris  in  1898. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       319 

than  Indian  balm,  or  to  continents  fairer  than 
Columbus  won ;  or,  best  of  all,  steering  close 
to  the  wind,  to  extract  motive  power  from  the 
greatest  obstacles.  Men  forget  the  eternity 
through  which  they  have  yet  to  sail,  when  they 
talk  of  anchoring  here  upon  this  bank  and  shoal 
of  time.  It  would  be  a  tragedy  to  see  the  ship 
ping  of  the  world  whitening  the  seas  no  more, 
and  idly  riding  at  anchor  in  Atlantic  ports ;  but 
it  would  be  more  tragic  to  see  a  world  of  souls 
fascinated  into  a  fatal  repose  and  renouncing 
their  destiny  of  motion. 

And  as  with  individuals,  so  with  communi 
ties.  The  great  historic  religions  of  the  world 
are  not  so  many  stranded  hulks  left  to  perish. 
The  most  conspicuous  among  them  are  yet  full 
of  life  and  activity.  All  over  the  world  the 
divine  influence  moves  men.  There  is  a  sym 
pathy  in  religions,  and  this  sympathy  is  shown 
alike  in  their  origin,  their  records,  and  their 
career.  I  have  worshipped  in  an  evangelical 
church  when  thousands  rose  to  their  feet  at  the 
motion  of  one  hand.  I  have  worshipped  in  a 
Roman  Catholic  church  when  the  lifting  of  one 
finger  broke  the  motionless  multitude  into 
twinkling  motion,  till  the  magic  sign  was  made, 
and  all  was  still.  But  I  never  for  an  instant 
have  supposed  that  this  concentrated  moment 
of  devotion  was  more  holy  or  more  beautiful 


320     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

than  when  one  cry  from  a  minaret  hushes  a 
Mohammedan  city  to  prayer;  or,  when,  at 
sunset,  the  low  invocation,  "  Oh !  the  gem  in 
the  lotus  —  oh!  the  gem  in  the  lotus,"  goes 
murmuring,  like  the  cooing  of  many  doves, 
across  the  vast  surface  of  Thibet.  True,  "  the 
gem  in  the  lotus  "  means  nothing  to  us,  but  it 
has  for  those  who  use  it  a  meaning  as  signifi 
cant  as  "the  Lamb  of  God,"  for  it  is  a  symbol 
of  aspiration. 

Every  year  brings  new  knowledge  of  the 
religions  of  the  world,  and  every  step  in  know 
ledge  brings  out  the  sympathy  between  them. 
They  all  show  similar  aims,  symbols,  forms, 
weaknesses,  and  aspirations.  Looking  at  these 
points  of  unity,  we  might  say  that  under  many 
forms  there  is  but  one  religion,  whose  essential 
creed  is  the  Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  Bro 
therhood  of  Man,  —  disguised  by  corruptions, 
symbolized  by  mythologies,  ennobled  by  virtues, 
degraded  by  vices,  but  still  the  same.  Or  if, 
passing  to  a  closer  analysis,  we  dwell  rather  on 
the  shades  of  difference,  we  shall  find  in  these 
varying  faiths  the  several  instruments  which 
perform  what  Cudworth  calls  "the  Symphony 
of  Religions."  And  though  some  may  stir  like 
drums,  and  others  soothe  like  flutes,  and  others 
like  violins  command  the  whole  range  of  soft 
ness  and  of  strength,  yet  they  are  all  alike  in- 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       321 

struments,  and  nothing  in  any  one  of  them  is 
so  wondrous  as  the  great  laws  of  sound  which 
control  them  all. 

"Amid  so  much  war  and  contest  and  variety 
of  opinion,"  said  Maximus  Tyrius,  "you  will 
find  one  consenting  conviction  in  every  land, 
that  there  is  one  God,  the  King  and  Father  of 
all."  "God  being  one,"  said  Aristotle,  "only 
receives  various  names  from  the  various  mani 
festations  we  perceive."  "  Sovereign  God," 
said  Cleanthes,  in  that  sublime  prayer  which 
Paul  quoted,  "whom  men  invoke  under  many 
names,  and  who  rulest  alone,  ...  it  is  to  thee 
that  all  nations  should  address  themselves,  for 
we  are  all  thy  children."  "  It  is  of  little  con 
sequence,"  says  Seneca,  "by  what  name  you 
call  the  first  Nature,  the  divine  Reason  that 
presides  over  the  universe  and  fills  all  parts  of 
it.  He  is  still  the  same  God.  We  Stoics  some 
times  call  him  Father  Bacchus,  because  he  is 
the  Universal  Life  that  animates  Nature ;  some 
times  Mercury,  because  he  is  the  Eternal  Rea 
son,  Order,  and  Wisdom.  You  may  give  him 
as  many  names  as  you  please,  provided  you 
allow  but  one  sole  principle  universally."  St. 
Augustine  readily  accepts  these  interpretations. 
"It  was  one  God,"  he  says,  "the  universal  Cre 
ator  and  Sustainer,  who  in  the  ethereal  spaces 
was  called  Jupiter ;  in  the  sea,  Neptune ;  in  the 


322     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

sun,  Phoebus ;  in  the  fire,  Vulcan ;  in  the  vin 
tage,  Bacchus;  in  the  harvest,  Ceres;  in  the 
forests,  Diana;  in  the  sciences,  Minerva."  So 
Origen,  the  Christian  Father,  frankly  says  that 
no  man  can  be  blamed  for  calling  God's  name 
in  Egyptian,  or  in  Scythian,  or  in  such  other 
language  as  he  best  knows.1 

To  say  that  different  races  worship  different 
Gods  is  like  saying  that  they  are  warmed  by 
different  suns.  The  names  differ,  but  the  sun 
is  the  same,  and  so  is  God.  As  there  is  but 
one  source  of  light  and  warmth,  so  there  is 
but  one  source  of  religion.  To  this  all  nations 
testify  alike.  We  have  yet  but  a  part  of  our 
Holy  Bible.  The  time  will  come  when,  as  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  all  pious  books  will  be  called 
sacred  scriptures,  Scriptures  Sacra.  From  the 
most  remote  portions  of  the  earth,  from  the 
Vedas  and  the  Sagas,  from  Plato  and  Zoroaster, 
Confucius  and  Mohammed,  from  the  Emperor 
Marcus  Antoninus  and  the  slave  Epictetus,from 
learned  Alexandrians  and  the  ignorant  Galla 
negroes,  there  will  be  gathered  hymns  and 

1  This  is  Cudworth's  interpretation,  but  he  has  rather 
strained  the  passage,  which  must  be  that  beginning,  OvSev  ovv 
olpai  Sicupfpfiv  (Adv.  Ce/sum,  v.).  The  passages  from  Aris 
totle  and  Cleanthes  are  in  Stobseus.  See,  also,  Maximus 
Tyrius,  Diss.  i. :  ®ebs  els  ir&vriev  Paori\(vs  Kal  irar^ip  ;  Seneca, 
De  Beneficiis,  bk.  iv.  c.  7-8 ;  Augustine,  De  Civ.  Dei,  bk.  iv. 
c.  2. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       323 

prayers  and  maxims  in  which  every  religious 
soul  may  unite,  —  the  magnificent  liturgy  of 
the  human  race. 

Alexander  von  Humboldt  asserted  in  middle 
life,  and  repeated  the  assertion  in  old  age,  that 
"all  positive  religions  contain  three  distinct 
parts.  First,  a  code  of  morals,  very  fine,  and 
nearly  the  same  in  all.  Second,  a  geological 
dream,  and,  third,  a  myth  or  historical  novel 
ette,  which  last  becomes  the  most  important 
of  all."  And  though  his  observation  may  be 
somewhat  roughly  stated,  its  essential  truth  is 
seen  when  we  compare  the  religions  of  the 
world,  side  by  side.  With  such  startling  points 
of  similarity,  where  is  the  difference?  The 
main  difference  lies  here,  that  each  fills  some 
blank  space  in  its  creed  with  the  name  of  a  dif- 
erent  teacher.  For  instance,  the  oriental  Par- 
see  wears  a  fine  white  garment,  bound  around 
him  with  a  certain  knot;  and  whenever  this 
knot  is  undone,  he  repeats  the  four  main  points 
of  his  creed,  which  are  as  follows  :  — 

"  To  believe  in  one  God,  and  hope  for  mercy 
from  him  only." 

"  To  believe  in  a  future  state  of  existence." 
"To  do  as  you  would  be  done  by." 
Thus  far  the  Parsee  keeps  on  the  universal 
ground  of  religion.     Then  he  drops  into  the 
language  of  his  sect  and  adds  :  — 


324    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

"  To  believe  in  Zoroaster  as  lawgiver,  and  to 
hold  his  writings  sacred." 

The  creed  thus  furnishes  a  formula  for  all 
faiths.  It  might  be  printed  in  blank  like  a  cir 
cular,  leaving  only  the  closing  name  to  be  filled 
in.1  For  Zoroaster  read  Christ,  and  you  have 
Christianity;  read  Buddha,  and  you  have  Bud 
dhism  ;  read  Mohammed,  and  you  have  Moham 
medanism.  Each  of  these,  in  short,  is  Natural 
Religion  plus  an  individual  name.  It  is  by 
insisting  on  that  plus  that  each  religion  stops 
short  of  being  universal. 

In  this  religion  of  the  human  race,  thus  vari 
ously  disguised,  we  meet  constantly  the  same 
leading  features.  The  same  great  doctrines, 
good  or  bad, — regeneration,  predestination, 
atonement,  the  future  life,  the  final  judgment, 
the  Divine  Reason  or  Logos,  and  the  Trinity. 
The  same  religious  institutions,  —  monks,  mis 
sionaries,  priests,  and  pilgrims.  The  same  ritual, 
—  prayers,  liturgies,  sacrifices,  sermons,  hymns. 
The  same  implements,  —  frankincense,  candles, 
holy  water,  relics,  amulets,  votive  offerings. 
The  same  symbols,  —  the  cross,  the  ball,  the 
triangle,  the  serpent,  the  all-seeing  eye,  the 

1  Compare  Augustine,  De  Vera  Relig.,  c.  iv. :  "  Faucis 
mutatis  verbis  atque  sententiis  Christiani  fierent."  The  Par- 
see  creed  is  given  as  above  in  a  valuable  article  in  Martin's 
Colonial  Magazine,  No.  18. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       325 

halo  of  rays,  the  tree  of  life.  The  same  saints, 
angels,  and  martyrs.  The  same  holiness  at 
tached  to  particular  cities,  rivers,  and  moun 
tains.  The  same  prophecies  and  miracles,  — 
the  dead  restored  and  evil  spirits  cast  out.  The 
self -same  holy  days  ;  for  Easter  and  Christmas 
were  kept  as  spring  and  autumn  festivals,  cen 
turies  before  our  era,  by  Egyptians,  Persians, 
Saxons,  Romans.  The  same  artistic  designs ; 
for  the  mother  and  child  stand  depicted,  not 
only  in  the  temples  of  Europe,  but  in  those  of 
Etruria  and  Arabia,  Egypt  and  Thibet.  In 
ancient  Christian  art,  the  evangelists  were  re 
presented  as  bearing  the  heads  of  birds  and 
quadrupeds,  like  those  upon  which  we  gaze  with 
amazement  in  Egyptian  tombs.  Nay,  the  very 
sects  and  subdivisions  of  all  historic  religions 
have  been  the  same,  and  each  supplies  us  with 
mystic  and  rationalist,  formalist  and  philanthro 
pist,  ascetic  and  epicurean.  The  simple  fact 
is  that  all  these  things  are  as  indigenous  as 
grass  and  mosses  ;  they  spring  up  in  every  soil, 
and  often  the  miscroscope  alone  can  distinguish 
the  varieties. 

And,  as  all  these  inevitably  recur,  so  comes 
back  again  and  again  the  idea  of  incarnation,  — 
the  Divine  Man.  Here,  too,  all  religions  sym 
pathize,  and,  with  slight  modifications,  each  is 
the  copy  of  the  other.  As  in  the  dim  robing- 


326    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

rooms  of  foreign  churches  are  kept  rich  stores 
of  sacred  vestments,  ready  to  be  thrown  over 
every  successive  generation  of  priests,  so  the 
world  has  kept  in  memory  the  same  stately 
traditions  to  decorate  each  new  Messiah.  He 
is  predicted  by  prophecy,  hailed  by  sages,  born 
of  a  virgin,  attended  by  miracle,  borne  to  heaven 
without  tasting  death,  and  with  promise  of  re 
turn.  Zoroaster  and  Confucius  have  no  human 
father.  Osiris  is  the  Son  of  God,  he  is  called 
the  Revealer  of  Life  and  Light ;  he  first  teaches 
one  chosen  race ;  he  then  goes  with  his  apostles 
to  teach  the  Gentiles,  conquering  the  world  by 
peace ;  he  is  slain  by  evil  powers ;  after  death 
he  descends  into  hell,  then  rises  again,  and  pre 
sides  at  the  last  judgment  of  all  mankind  :  those 
who  call  upon  his  name  shall  be  saved.  Bud 
dha  is  born  of  a  virgin ;  his  name  means  the 
Word,  the  Logos,  but  he  is  known  more  ten 
derly  as  the  Saviour  of  Man ;  he  embarrasses 
his  teachers,  when  a  child,  by  his  understand 
ing  and  his  answers ;  he  is  tempted  in  the 
wilderness,  when  older ;  he  goes  with  his  apos 
tles  to  redeem  the  world ;  he  abolishes  caste 
and  cruelty,  and  teaches  forgiveness ;  he  re 
ceives  among  his  followers  outcasts  whom  Phar 
isaic  pride  despises,  and  he  says,  "  My  law  is  a 
law  of  mercy  to  all." 

These  are  the  recognized  properties  of  reli- 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       327 

gious  tradition ;  the  beautiful  garments  belong 
not  to  the  individual,  but  to  the  race.  It  is  the 
drawback  on  all  human  greatness  that  it  makes 
itself  deified.  Even  of  Jesus  it  was  said  sin 
cerely  by  the  Platonic  philosopher  Porphyry, 
"That  noble  soul,  who  has  ascended  into 
heaven,  has  by  a  certain  fatality  become  an 
occasion  of  error."  The  inequality  of  gifts  is 
a  problem  not  yet  solved,  and  there  is  always  a 
craving  for  some  miracle  to  explain  it.  Men 
set  up  their  sublime  representatives  as  so  many 
spiritual  athletes,  and  measure  them.  "See, 
this  one  is  six  inches  taller ;  those  six  inches 
prove  him  divine."  But  because  men  surpass 
us,  or  surpass  everybody,  shall  we  hold  them 
separate  from  the  race  ?  Construct  the  race 
as  you  will,  somebody  must  stand  at  the  head, 
in  virtue  as  in  intellect.  Shall  we  deify  Shake 
speare  ?  Because  we  may  begin  upon  his 
treasury  of  wisdom  almost  before  we  enjoy  any 
other  book,  and  can  hold  to  it  longer,  and  read 
it  all  our  lives,  from  those  earnest  moments 
when  we  demand  the  very  core  of  thought, 
down  to  moments  of  sickness  and  sadness  when 
nothing  else  captivates  ;  because  we  may  go 
the  rounds  of  all  literature,  and  grow  surfeited 
with  every  other  great  author,  and  learn  a  dozen 
languages  and  a  score  of  philosophical  systems, 
and  travel  the  wide  world  over,  and  come  back 


328     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

to  Shakespeare  at  length,  fresh  as  ever,  and 
begin  at  the  beginning  of  his  infinite  meanings 
once  more,  —  are  we  therefore  to  consider  him 
as  separated  from  mortality  ?  Are  we  to  raise 
him  to  the  heavens,  as  in  the  magnificent  eulo- 
gium  of  Keats,  who  heads  creation  with  "  things 
real,  as  sun,  stars,  and  passages  of  Shake 
speare  "  ?  Or  are  we  to  erect  into  a  creed  the 
bold  words  I  once  heard  an  enthusiast  soberly 
say,  "that  it  is  impossible  to  think  of  Shake 
speare  as  a  man "  ?  Or  shall  we  reverently 
own,  that,  as  man's  humility  first  bids  him 
separate  himself  from  these  his  great  superiors, 
so  his  faith  and  hope  bring  him  back  to  them 
and  renew  the  tie.  It  paralyzes  my  intellect 
if  I  doubt  whether  Shakespeare  was  a  man ;  it 
paralyzes  my  whole  spiritual  nature  if  I  doubt 
whether  Jesus  was. 

Therefore  I  believe  that  all  religion  is  natural, 
all  revealed.  What  faith  in  humanity  springs 
up,  what  trust  in  God,  when  one  recognizes 
the  sympathy  of  religions  !  Every  race  has 
some  conception  of  a  Creator  and  Governor  of 
the  world,  in  whom  devout  souls  recognize  a 
Father  also.  Even  where,  as  among  the  Bud 
dhists,  the  reported  teachings  of  the  founder 
seem  to  ignore  the  existence  of  a  Deity,  the 
popular  instinct  is  too  strong  for  the  teacher, 
so  that  the  Buddhist  races  are  not  atheistic. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       329 

Every  race  has  some  conception  of  an  exist 
ence  after  death.  Every  race  in  some  way 
recognizes  by  its  religious  precepts  the  brother 
hood  of  man.  The  whole  gigantic  system  of 
caste  in  Hindostan  has  grown  up  in  defiance 
of  the  Vedas,  which  are  now  being  invoked  to 
abolish  it.1  The  Hitopadesa  of  Vishnu  Sarman 
forbids  caste.  "  Is  this  one  of  our  tribe  or  a 
stranger?  is  the  calculation  of  the  narrow- 
minded  ;  but,  to  those  of  a  noble  disposition, 
the  earth  itself  is  but  one  family."  "What  is 
religion  ? "  says  elsewhere  the  same  book,  and 
answers,  "  Tenderness  toward  all  creatures." 

1  See  the  discourses  of  Keshub  Chunder  Sen  in  England, 
as  reported  by  Sophia  Dobson  Collet.  The  speaker  said  of 
the  Brahmo  Somaj,  or  Hindoo  reformers,  "  They  were  in  the 
beginning  a  body  of  Vedantists.  They  based  their  teaching 
upon  the  national  books  of  the  Hindoos  ;  they  accepted  those 
books  as  the  word  of  God,  and  tried  to  fling  away  all  the  later 
superstition  and  idolatry  of  their  countrymen "  (p.  530). 
"  You  must  also  admit  that  the  subject  of  caste  distinction 
was  not  known  to  my  ancestors.  It  is  said  —  This  is  my 
friend,  that  is  not ;  so  counteth  a  man  of  narrow  heart ;  but 
to  the  man  of  large  heart  all  mankind  are  kinsmen  "  (p.  493). 
"  With  regard  to  caste,  this  passage  occurs  in  the  sacred  writ 
ings —  This  man  is  my  friend  ;  that  man  is  not  my  friend;  so 
counteth  he  whose  heart  is  narrow ;  but  he  who  has  a  catholic 
heart  looketh  upon  all  mankind  as  his  kinsmen  "  (p.  299). 
Again,  at  Glasgow,  "  he  referred  to  what  these  earlier  writ 
ings  revealed  in  respect  to  the  formerly  elevated  condition  of 
female  society,  the  doctrine  of  the  divine  unity,  and  the  feel 
ing  of  human  brotherhood  as  opposed  to  caste  "  (p.  516). 
Also  pp.  34,  587. 


330    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

"He  is  my  beloved  of  whom  mankind  are  not 
afraid  and  who  of  mankind  is  not  afraid,"  says 
the  Bhagvat  Geeta.  "  Kesava  is  pleased  with 
him  who  does  good  to  others  .  .  .  who  is  al 
ways  desirous  of  the  welfare  of  all  creatures," 
says  the  Vishnu  Purana.  The  traditional  greet 
ing  of  the  Buddhist  Tartars  is,  "  All  men  are 
brethren  and  should  help  one  another."  When 
a  disciple  asked  Confucius  about  benevolence, 
he  said,  "  It  is  to  love  all  men  ;  "  and  he  else 
where  said,  "  My  doctrine  is  simple  and  easy  to 
understand ; "  and  his  chief  disciple  adds,  "  It 
consists  only  in  having  the  heart  right  and  in 
loving  one's  neighbor  as  one's  self."  When  he 
was  asked,  "  Is  there  one  word  which  may  serve 
as  a  rule  of  practice  for  all  one's  life  ?  "  he  an 
swered,  "  Is  not  '  Reciprocity  '  such  a  word  ? 
What  you  wish  done  to  yourself,  do  to  others." 
By  some  translators  the  rule  is  given  in  a  nega 
tive  form,  in  which  it  is  also  found  in  the  Jew 
ish  Talmud  (Rabbi  Hillel),  "  Do  not  to  another 
what  thou  wouldst  not  he  should  do  to  thee ; 
this  is  the  sum  of  the  law."  So  Thales,  when 
asked  for  a  rule  of  life,  taught,  "That  which 
thou  blamest  in  another,  do  not  thyself."  "Thou 
shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,"  said  the  He 
brew  book  of  Leviticus.  "  None  of  you  can  be 
called  a  true  believer,"  says  the  Koran,  "  till  he 
loves  for  his  brother  what  he  loves  for  himself." 


331 

lamblichus  tells  us  that  Pythagoras  taught  "  the 
love  of  all  to  all,"  and  Plutarch  that  Zeno 
taught  us  "  to  look  upon  all  men  in  general  to 
be  our  fellow-countrymen  and  citizens  .  .  .  like 
a  flock  feeding  together  with  equal  right  in  a 
common  pasture."  "  To  live  is  not  to  live  for 
one's  self  alone,"  said  the  Greek  dramatist  Me- 
nander ;  and  the  Roman  dramatist  Terence, 
following  him,  brought  down  the  applause  of 
the  whole  theatre  by  the  saying,  "  I  am  a  man  ; 
I  count  nothing  human  foreign  to  me."  "  Give 
bread  to  a  stranger,"  said  Quintilian,  "in  the 
name  of  the  universal  brotherhood  which  binds 
together  all  men  under  the  common  father  of 
nature."  "What  good  man  will  look  on  any 
suffering  as  foreign  to  himself  ? "  said  the  Latin 
satirist  Juvenal.  "  This  sympathy  is  what  dis 
tinguishes  us  from  brutes,"  he  adds.  Plutarch 
consoles  Apollonius  for  the  death  of  his  son  by 
praising  the  youth  as  "a  lover  of  mankind." 
The  poet  Lucan  predicted  a  time  when  warlike 
weapons  should  be  laid  aside,  and  all  men  love 
one  another.  "  Nature  has  inclined  us  to  love 
men,"  said  Cicero,  "  and  this  is  the  foundation 
of  the  law."  He  also  described  his  favorite 
virtue  of  justice  as  "devoting  itself  wholly  to 
the  good  of  others."  "  Love  mankind,"  wrote 
Marcus  Antoninus,  summing  it  all  up  in  two 
words ;  while  the  loving  soul  of  Epictetus  ex- 


332     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

tended  the  sphere  of  mutual  affection  beyond 
this  earth,  holding  that  "  the  universe  is  but 
one  great  city,  full  of  beloved  ones,  divine  and 
human,  by  nature  endeared  to  each  other." 1 

1  The  passages  above  cited  will  be  found  as  follows  : 
Vishnu  Sarman  (tr.  by  Johnson),  pp.  16,  28 ;  Bhagvat  Geeta 
(tr.  by  Wilkins),  ch.  12  ;  Vishnu  Purana  (tr.  by  Wilson),  p. 
291  ;  Hue's  Travels  in  Thibet,  passim. 

Confucius,  in  Legge's  Confucian  Analects,  bk.  xii.  c.  22, 
and  bk.  xv.  c.  23.  Also,  Lun-yu  (tr.  by  Pauthier),  c.  iv.  §  16; 
Davis's  Chinese,  ii.  50.  Compare  the  exhaustive  essay  of 
Ezra  Abbot  (Proceedings  Am.  Orient.  Soc.for  1870,  p.  ix.). 

Thales,  in  Diogenes  Laertius,  bk.  i.  §  36.  IId>y  kv  &pi<rra  /toi 
SiKaiorara  ^iu>crat/j.fv ;  e'ctv  &  rots  &\\ois  iiririfjuafifv,  OWTO!  /j.)] 
J>pw/j.ev.  Stobaeus  reads  instead  (c.  43),  '6aa  ve/iecrets  rbt>  ir\7j- 
ffiov  avrbs  /*)?  volei.  Leviticus  xix.  18.  Koran,  quoted  in 
Akhlak-i-Jalaly,  p.  78.  lamblichus,  De  Pythag.  vita,  cc.  16, 
33  :  &i\tav  8e  Siatpavetrrara  irdvruv  irpbs  S/iravras  TlvOayApas 
trapeSoiKe.  Plutarch,  De  Alex,  seu  Virt.,  seu  Fort.,  bk.  i.  §  68  : 
'AAA&  irdvras  avBp&irovs  fiyd/ieOa  STj/uJraj  /col  iro\iras  .  .  .  &ff- 
irep  aye\T)s  ffvvv6p.ov  v6/j.ci>  KOLVW  ffvvrpf(f>6fj.fvr]s.  Menander  (ed. 
Diibner),  Incert.  Fab.  Fragm.,  257  :  TOVT'  effn  rb  £i)v  oi>x 
tavrqi  £rji>  fj.6vov. 

Terence,  Heaut.,  i.  i,  25  :  "  Homo  sum,  humani  nihil  a  me 
alienum  puto."  Quintilian,  Declamations,  quoted  by  Denis. 
Juvenal,  Sat.  xv.  140-142  :  — 

"  Quis  enim  bonus  .  .  . 
Ulla  aliena  sibi  credat  mala  ?  " 

Plutarch,  Consol.  ad  Apollon.,  §  34  :  *t\oiroTwp  ytv6fj.fvos  KO.\ 
4>ib.opfiT<op,  Kal  <pi\o'iK(ios  ical  <f>i\6<ro(pos,  rb  8^  av^Trav  elireiv, 
<pl\dv6pcairos. 

Lucan,  Pharsalia,  i.  60,  61  :  — 

"  Tune  genus  humanum  positis  sibi  consulat  armis 
Inque  vicem  gens  omnis  amet." 

Cicero,  De  Legibus,  i.  1 5  :  "  Nam  haec  nascuntur  ex  eo,  quia 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       333 

This  sympathy  of  religions  extends  even  to 
the  loftiest  virtues,  —  the  forgiveness  of  inju 
ries,  the  love  of  enemies,  and  the  overcoming  of 
evil  with  good.  "  It  is  declared  in  our  Ved  and 
Codes  of  Law,"  says  Ram  Mohun  Roy,  "  that 
mercy  is  the  root  of  virtue."  Buddha  said,  "  A 
man  who  foolishly  does  me  wrong,  I  will  return 
to  him  the  protection  of  my  ungrudging  love ; 
the  more  evil  comes  from  him,  the  more  good 
shall  go  from  me."  "  Hatred,"  says  the  Bud 
dhist  Dhammapada,  or  "  Path  of  Virtue,"  "  does 
not  cease  by  hatred  at  any  time  ;  hatred  ceases 
by  love  ;  this  is  an  old  rule."  "To  overwhelm 
evil  with  good  is  good,  and  to  resist  evil  by  evil 
is  evil,"  says  a  Mohammedan  manual  of  ethics. 
"  Turn  not  away  from  a  sinner,  but  look  on  him 
with  compassion,"  says  Sadi's  "  Gulistan."  "  If 
thine  enemy  hunger,  give  him  bread  to  eat ;  if 
he  thirst,  give  him  water  to  drink,"  said  the 
Hebrew  proverb.  "  He  who  commits  injustice 

natura  propensi  sumus  ad  diligendos  homines,  quod  funda- 
mentum  juris  est."  Also  De  Republica,  iii.  7,  7  (fragment) : 
"  Quae  virtus,  praeter  ceteras,  tota  se  ad  alienas  porrigit  utili- 
tates  et  explicat."  Marcus  Antoninus,  vii.  31  :  ^(Kt\aov  rbv 
avOpdnrivov  ftvos.  Epictetus,  bk.  iii.  c.  xxiv.  :  "Ori  6 
ovros  (da.  ir6\is  tffrl  .  .  .  irtivTa.  8e  <pi\<av  yueerrcfc,  irpSirov 
®foav,  elra  Kal  a.vQp<uir<av,  (pvfffi  'irpbs  oAA^Xois  i^K 
Compare  Cicero,  De  Nat.  Deorum  (ii.  §  Ixii.)  :  "Est  enim 
mundus  quasi  communis  Deorum,  atque  hominum  domus,  aut 
urbs  utrorumque." 


334    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

is  ever  made  more  wretched  than  he  who  suffers 
it,"  said  Plato,  and  adds,  "  It  is  never  right  to 
return  an  injury."  "No  one  will  dare  main 
tain,"  said  Aristotle,  "that  it  is  better  to  do 
injustice  than  to  bear  it."  "  We  should  do  good 
to  our  enemy,"  said  Cleobulus,  "  and  make  him 
our  friend."  "  Speak  not  evil  to  a  friend,  nor 
even  to  an  enemy,"  said  Pittacus,  one  of  the 
Seven  Wise  Men.  "  It  is  more  beautiful,"  said 
Valerius  Maximus,  "to  overcome  injury  by  the 
power  of  kindness  than  to  oppose  to  it  the  ob 
stinacy  of  hatred."  Maximus  Tyrius  has  a  spe 
cial  chapter  on  the  treatment  of  injuries,  and 
concludes,  "  If  he  who  injures  does  wrong,  he 
who  returns  the  injury  does  equally  wrong." 
Plutarch,  in  his  essay,  "  How  to  profit  by  our 
enemies,"  bids  us  sympathize  with  them  in 
affliction  and  aid  their  needs.  "  A  philosopher, 
when  smitten,  must  love  those  who  smite  him, 
as  if  he  were  the  father,  the  brother,  of  all 
men,"  said  Epictetus.  "  It  is  peculiar  to  man," 
said  Marcus  Antoninus,  "to  even  love  those 
who  do  wrong.  .  .  .  Ask  thyself  daily  to  how 
many  ill-minded  persons  thou  hast  shown  a 
kind  disposition."  He  compares  the  wise  and 
humane  soul  to  a  spring  of  pure  water  which 
blesses  even  him  who  curses  it ;  as  the  Oriental 
story  likens  such  a  soul  to  the  sandalwood  tree, 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       335 

which  imparts  its  fragrance  even  to  the  axe 
that  cuts  it  down.1 

How  it  cheers  and  enlarges  us  to  hear  of 
these  great  thoughts  and  know  that  the  Divine 
has  never  been  without  a  witness  on  earth  ! 
How  it  must  sadden  the  soul  to  disbelieve 
them  !  Worse  yet,  to  be  in  a  position  where  it 
is  necessary  to  hope  that  they  may  not  be  cor 
rectly  reported,  —  that  one  by  one  they  may 
be  explained  away.  A  prosecuting  attorney 

1  Ram  Mohun  Roy,  Conference  on  Burning  Widows  (Cal 
cutta,  1818),  p.  27  ;  Beal's  Buddhist  Scriptures  from  the 
Chinese,  p.  193 ;  Dhammapada  (tr.  by  Max  Muller),  in  Ro 
ger's  Buddhagosha 's  Parables,  also  in  Max  Miiller's  Lectures 
on  the  Science  of  Religion  (Am.  ed.),  p-  194 ;  Akhlak-i-Jalaly 
(tr.  by  Thompson),  p.  441  ;  Sadi's  Gulistan  (tr.  by  Ross),  p. 
240;  (tr.  by  Gladwin,  Am.  ed.),  p.  209;  Proverbs  xxv.  21. 
Plato,  Gorgias,  §  35  :  'Ael  T}>V  aSiKovvra  rov  atiiKovfievov  aO\ica- 
repov  eivai.  Crito,  §  10  :  'fls  ovSeirorf  bpQ&s  %XOVTOS  oure  rov 
aoiKelv  ofof  rov  avraSmciv.  (Plato  devotes  much  of  the  first 
book  of  his  Republic  to  refuting  with  great  elaboration  those 
who  allege  that  it  is  right  to  injure  an  enemy.)  Cleobulus, 
in  Diog.  Laertius,  bk.  i.  §  91  :  "E\tye  re  rov  <pl\ov  titty  tvfp- 
•yrrtiv,  ovo>s  rj  fj.a\\ov  $i\os.  rbv  Si  fX^P°v>  <pi\ov  iroteiv.  Pit- 
tacus  in  Diog.  Laertius,  bk.  i.  §  78  :  $i\ov  ^  \eyeiv  Ka/ccwy, 
a\\k  ^7j5i  lxQp6v.  Val.  Maximus,  iv.  2,  4  :  "  Quia  speciosius 
aliquanto  injuriae  beneficiis  vincuntur  quam  mutui  odii  pertr 
nacia  pensantur."  Max.  Tyrius,  Diss.  xviii. :  Kal  /j.^v  el  6  atiiiceSv 
KaKtZs  iroifT,  6  avriiroiuv  itaKtos  ovtiev  TJTTOJ/  irotei  KO.KWS,  K&V 
a/jLvvTirai.  Plutarch's  Morals  (tr.  by  Goodwin,  i.  293).  Epic- 
tetus,  bk.  vii.  c.  22  :  Aafpeirdai  8e?  avrbv,  &s  ovov,  Kal  $aip6/j.tvov 
<pi\eTv  aiirovs  rovs  Saipovras,  us  irorepo  irdvTcav,  us  a.Sf\(p6i>. 
Marcus  Antoninus,  Medit.,  v.  31  :  EI'J  offovs  5e  ayvu/^ovas  evyvum 
/J.QIV  tytvov.  vii.  22  :  *l5tot>  avOputrov  <pi\tw  Kal  rois  •ma.iovra.s. 


336    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

once  told  me  that  the  most  painful  part  of  his 
position  was  that  he  had  to  hope  that  every  man 
he  prosecuted  would  be  proved  a  villain.  But 
what  is  this  to  the  position  of  those  who  are 
bound  to  hope  that  the  character  of  humanity 
will  be  blackened  by  wholesale,  —  who  are  com 
pelled  to  resist  every  new  gleam  of  light  that 
the  study  of  ancient  history  reveals.  For  in 
stance,  as  the  great  character  of  Buddha  has 
come  out  from  the  darkness,  within  fifty  years, 
how  these  reluctant  people  have  struggled 
against  it,  still  desiring  to  escape.  "  Save  us, 
O  God  !  "  they  have  seemed  to  say,  "  from  the 
distress  of  believing  that  so  many  years  ago 
there  was  a  sublime  human  life."  Show  such 
persons  that  the  great  religious  ideas  and  max 
ims  are  as  old  as  literature  ;  and  how  they  resist 
the  knowledge  !  "  Surely  it  is  not  so  bad  as 
that,"  they  seem  to  say.  "  Is  there  no  possibil 
ity  of  a  mistranslation  !  Let  us  see  the  text, 
explore  the  lexicon  ;  is  there  no  labor,  no  device, 
by  which  we  can  convince  ourselves  that  there 
is  a  mistake?"  Anything  rather  than  believe 
that  there  is  a  light  which  lighteth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world. 

For  this  purpose  the  very  facts  of  history 
must  be  suppressed  or  explained  away.  Sir 
George  Mackenzie,  in  his  "Travels  in  Iceland," 
says  that  the  clergy  prevented  till  1630,  with 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       337 

"  mistaken  zeal,"  the*  publication  of  the  Scan 
dinavian  Eddas.  Hue,  the  Roman  Catholic 
missionary,  described  in  such  truthful  colors 
the  religious  influence  of  Buddhism  in  Thibet 
that  his  book  was  put  in  the  Index  Expurgato- 
rius  at  Rome.  Balmes,  a  learned  Roman  Cath 
olic  writer,  declares  that  *  Christianity  is 
stripped  of  a  portion  of  its  honors  "if  we  trace 
back  any  high  standard  of  female  purity  to  the 
ancient  Germans  ;  and  so  he  coolly  sets  aside 
as  "  poetical "  the  plain  statements  of  the  accu 
rate  Tacitus.  If  we  are  to  believe  the  accounts 
given  of  the  Jewish  Essenes  by  Josephus,  De 
Quincey  thinks,  the  claims  made  by  Christianity 
are  annihilated.  "If  Essenism  could  make 
good  its  pretensions,  there,  at  one  blow,  would 
be  an  end  of  Christianity,  which,  in  that  case, 
is  not  only  superseded  as  an  idle  repetition  of 
a  religious  system  already  published,  but  as  a 
criminal  plagiarism.  Nor  can  the  wit  of  man 
evade  the  conclusion."  He  accordingly  at 
tempts  to  explain  away  the  unequivocal  testi 
mony  of  Josephus.1 

And  what  makes  this  exclusiveness  the  more 

1  Balmes,  Protestantism  and  Catholicity,  c.  xxvii.  and  note ; 
Mackenzie's  Iceland,  p.  26 ;  De  Quince}',  Autobiographical 
Sketches  (Am.  ed.),  p.  17,  and  Essay  on  the  Essenes.  The 
condemnation  of  Hue's  book  is  mentioned  by  Max  Miiller, 
Chips,  etc.  (Am.  ed.),  i.  187. 


338    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

replusive  is  its  modern  drigin.  Paul  himself 
quoted  from  the  sublime  hymn  of  Cleanthes  to 
prove  to  the  Greeks  that  they  too  recognized 
the  Fatherhood  of  God.  The  early  Christian 
apologists,  living  face  to  face  with  the  elder 
religions,  made  no  exclusive  claims.  Tertullian 
declared  the  soul  to  be  an  older  authority  than 
prophecy,  and  its  voice  the  gift  of  God.  from 
the  beginning.  Justin  Martyr  said,  "  Those 
who  live  according  to  Reason  are  Christians, 
though  you  may  call  them  atheists.  .  .  .  Such 
among  the  Greeks  were  Socrates  and  Heracli- 
tus  and  the  rest.  They  who  have  made  or  do 
make  Reason  (Logos)  their  rule  of  life  are 
Christians,  and  men  without  fear  and  trem 
bling."  "The  same  God,"  said  Clement,  "to 
whom  we  owe  the  Old  and  New  Testaments 
gave  also  to  the  Greeks  their  Greek  philosophy 
by  which  the  Almighty  is  glorified  among  the 
Greeks."  Lactantius  declared  that  the  ancient 
philosophers  "  attained  the  full  truth  and  the 
whole  mystery  of  religion."  "  One  would  sup 
pose,"  said  Minucius  Felix,  "either  that  the 
Christians  were  philosophers,  or  the  philoso 
phers  Christians."  "  What  is  now  called  the 
Christian  religion,"  said  Augustine,  "  has  existed 
among  the  ancients,  and  was  not  absent  from 
the  beginning  of  the  human  race,  until  Christ 
came  in  the  flesh ;  from  which  time  the  true 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       339 

religion,  which  existed  already,  began  to  be 
called  Christian."  Jerome  said  that  "  the  know 
ledge  of  God  was  present  by  nature  in  all,  nor 
was  there  any  one  born  without  God,  or  who 
had  not  in  himself  the  seeds  of  all  virtues."  l 

There  is  undoubtedly  an  increasing  willing 
ness  among  Christian  theologians  to  express 
views  like  these.  Yet  there  are  many  who 
still  shrink  from  the  admission  that  any  such 
sympathy  exists  between  religions.  "There 
never  was  a  time,"  says  a  distinguished  Euro- 

1  "  Nee  hoc  ullis  Mosis  libris  debent.  Ante  anima  quam 
prophetia.  Animae  enim  a  primordio  conscientia  Dei  dos 
est."  Tertullian,  Adv.  Marcion,  I,  10. 

Of  perk  A.6yov  f}i(txrat/rfs  xpurriavol  eiffi,  Kai>  &6foi  3vojj.lff- 
0-ijcrav,  olov  £v"E\\iiffi  (nets  Sw/fparrjs  Kal  '}\paK\firos  Kal  ol  opoloi 
avrois,  K.  r.  \.  Justin  Martyr,  Apol.,  i.  46 

npbs  S£  Kal  Sri  6  avrbs  Bfbs  a^fyoiv  raw  SiaQ-fiKaiv  x°P7?7^s  ^ 
Kal  TTJJ  'E\\T]viKris  <l>i\oao((>tas  Sorrjp  rois  "E\\riffiv,  Si'  fis  6 
iravTOKpdrwp  trap*  °'E\\i\ffi  $o£d£frai,  irapfffrtifffv,  Sij\ov  8^ 
KavOevSf.  Clem.  Alex.,  Strom.,  vi.  v.  42. 

"  Totam  igitur  veritatem  et  omne  divinae  religionis  arca 
num  philosophi  attigerunt."  Lactantius,  Inst.,  viii.  7. 

"  Ut  quivis  arbitretur,  aut  nunc  Christianos  philosophos 
esse,  aut  philosophos  fuisse  jam  tune  Christianos."  Minucius 
Felix,  Octavius,  c.  xx. 

"  Res  ipsa,  quse  nunc  religio  Christiana  nuncupatur,  erat 
apud  antiques,  nee  defuit  ab  initio  generis  humani,  quous- 
que  Christus  veniret  in  camera,  unde  vera  religio,  quae  jam 
erat,  coepit  appellari  Christiana."  Augustine,  Retr.,  i.  13. 

"Natura  omnibus  Dei  inesse  notitiam,  nee  quemquam  sine 
Deo  nasci,  et  non  habere  in  se  semina  sapientiae  et  justitiae 
reliquarumque  virtutum."  Hieron.,  Comm.  in  GaL,i.  i,  15. 


340     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

pean  preacher,  "when  there  did  not  exist  an 
infinite  gulf  between  the  ideas  of  the  ancients 
and  the  ideas  of  Christianity.  There  is  an  end 
of  Christianity  if  men  agree  in  thinking  the 
contrary."  And  an  eminent  American  clergy 
man  says,  "If  the  truths  of  Christianity  are 
intuitive  and  self-evident,  how  is  it  that  they 
formed  no  part  of  any  man's  consciousness  till 
the  advent  of  Christ  ?  "  But  how  can  any  one 
look  history  in  the  face,  how  can  any  man  open 
even  the  dictionary  of  any  ancient  language, 
and  yet  say  this  ?  What  word  sums  up  the  high 
est  Christian  virtue  if  not  philanthropy  ?  And 
yet  the  word  is  a  Greek  word,  and  was  used  in 
the  same  sense  before  Christendom  existed.1 

Some  of  the  ablest  Christian  writers  have 
honestly  disclaimed  any  such  monopoly  of  the 
truth.  In  William  Penn's  "No  Cross,  No 
Crown,"  one  half  the  pages  are  devoted  to  the 
religious  testimony  of  Christians,  and  one  half 
to  that  of  the  non-Christian  world.  The  pious 
Scougal,  in  his  discourse  "  On  the  indispensa- 


1  'E-yo>  5f  <{>o[3ov/jLai  /J.TJ  VTTO  <j>i\w0pcairlas  SOKU  avrois  (ire  irep 
{?X«  eKKfX.v(jitv<ay  iravrl  aviSpl  \tyeiv.  Plato,  Euthyphron,  §  3. 

"Quodque  a  Graecis  <pi\avQpunrla.  dicitur,  et  significat  dex- 
teritatem  quandam  benevolentiamque  erga  omnes  homines 
promiscuam."  Aulus  Gellius,  bk.  xiii.  c.  xvi.  i. 

See,  further,  an  essay  "  On  the  word  Philanthropy,"  by 
the  present  writer,  which  follows  the  present  essay  in  this 
volume. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       341 

ble  duty  of  loving  our  enemies,"  admits  that  it 
was  taught  also  by  "the  more  sober  of  the 
heathen."  "  If,"  says  Dean  Milman,  "  we  were 
to  glean  from  the  later  Jewish  writings,  from 
the  beautiful  aphorisms  of  other  Oriental  na 
tions,  which  we  cannot  fairly  trace  to  Christian 
sources,  and  from  the  Platonic  and  Stoic  philo 
sophy,  their  more  striking  precepts,  we  might 
find,  perhaps,  a  counterpart  to  almost  all  the 
moral  sayings  of  Jesus."  The  writings  of  the 
most  learned  of  English  Catholics,  Digby,  are 
a  treasure-house  of  ancient  religion,  and  the 
conflict  between  the  churchman  and  the  scholar 
makes  him  deliciously  inconsistent.  He  states 
a  doctrine,  illustrates  it  from  the  schoolmen  or 
the  fathers,  proudly  claims  it  as  being  monopo 
lized  by  the  Christian  church,  and  ends  by 
citing  a  parallel  passage  from  Plato  or  yEschy- 
lus  !  "The  ancient  poets,"  he  declares,  "seem 
never  to  have  conceived  the  idea  of  a  spirit  of 
resignation  which  would  sanctify  calamity;" 
and  accordingly  he  quotes  Aristotle's  assertion, 
that  "suffering  becomes  beautiful  when  any 
one  bears  great  calamities  with  cheerfulness, 
not  through  insensibility,  but  through  great 
ness  of  mind."  "  There  is  not  a  passage  in  the 
classics,"  he  declares,  "which  recognizes  the 
beauty  of  holiness  and  Christian  mildness ; " 
and  in  the  next  breath  he  remarks  that  Ho- 


342    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

mer's  description  of  Patroclus  furnishes  "lan 
guage  which  might  convey  an  idea  of  that 
mildness  of  manner  which  belonged  to  men  in 
Christian  ages."  And  he  closes  his  eloquent 
picture  of  the  faith  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  im 
mortality  by  attributing  to  the  monks  and  friars 
the  opinion  uttered  by  the  dying  Socrates,  that 
"  a  man  who  has  spent  his  life  in  the  study  of 
philosophy  ought  to  take  courage  in  his  death, 
and  to  be  full  of  hope  that  he  is  about  to  pos 
sess  the  greatest  good  that  can  be  obtained, 
which  will  be  in  his  possession  as  soon  as  he 
dies."  Yet  all  this  is  done  in  a  manner  so  abso 
lutely  free  from  sophistry,  the  conflict  between 
the  two  attitudes  is  so  innocent '  and  transpar 
ent,  that  one  almost  loves  it  in  Digby.  In 
many  writers  on  these  subjects  there  is  greater 
bigotry,  without  the  amiability  and  the  learn 
ing.1 

And,  if  it  is  thus  hard  to  do  historical  justice, 
it  is  far  harder  to  look  with  fairness  upon  con 
temporary  religions.  Thus  the  Jesuit  Father 

1  Milman's  Hist.  Christianity,  bk.  i.  c.  iv.  §  3.  (Compare 
Merivale's  Conversion  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Note  F,  §  4.) 
Digby's  Ages  of  Faith  (Am.  ed.),  ii.  174,  178,  287-289,  etc. 
Digby's  inconsistent  method  has  ample  precedent  in  the  early 
Christian  apologists.  Tertullian,  for  instance,  glorifies  the 
Christian  martyrs,  and  then,  to  show  that  they  are  not  foolish 
or  desperate  men,  cites  the  precedents  of  Regulus,  Zeno, 
Mutius  Scaevola,  and  many  others !  Apol.,  c.  50. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       343 

Ripa  thought  that  Satan  had  created  the  Bud 
dhist  religion  on  purpose  to  bewilder  the  Chris 
tian  church.  There  we  see  a  creed  possessing 
more  votaries  than  any  other  in  the  world,  num 
bering  nearly  one  third  of  the  human  race.  Its 
traditions  go  back  to  a  founder  whose  record  is 
stainless  and  sublime.  It  has  the  doctrine  of 
the  Real  Presence,  the  Madonna  and  Child,  the 
invocation  of  the  dead,  monasteries  and  pilgrim 
ages,  celibacy  and  tonsure,  relics,  rosaries,  and 
holy  water.  Wherevqr  it  has  spread,  it  has 
broken  down  the  barrier  of  caste.  It  teaches 
that  all  men  are  brethren,  and  makes  them 
prove  it  by  their  acts;  it  diffuses  gentleness 
and  self-sacrificing  benevolence.  "It  has  be 
come,"  as  Neander  admits,  "to  many  tribes  of 
people  a  means  of  transition  from  the  wildest 
barbarism  to  semi-civilization."  Tennent,  living 
amid  the  lowest  form  of  it  in  Ceylon,  says  that 
its  code  of  morals  is  second  only  to  that  of 
Christianity  itself,"  and  enjoins  "every  conceiv 
able  virtue  and  excellence."  Shall  we  not  re 
joice  in  this  consoling  discovery?  "Yes,"  said 
the  simple-hearted  Abb6  Hue  :  so  he  published 
his  account  of  Buddhism,  and  saw  the  book 
excommunicated.  "  No  ! "  said  Father  Ripa,  "it 
is  the  invention  of  the  devil !  "  1 

1  Compare  Neander  (Am.  tr.),  i.  450 ;  Hue's  Thibet,  ii.  50  ; 
Tennent's  Christianity  in  Ceylon,  pp.  219,  220. 


344    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

With  a  steady  wave  of  progress  Mohammed 
anism  is  sweeping  through  Africa,  where  Chris 
tianity  scarcely  advances  a  step.  Wherever 
Mohammedanism  reaches,  schools  and  libraries 
are  established,  gambling  and  drunkenness 
cease,  theft  and  falsehood  diminish,  polygamy  is 
limited,  woman  begins  to  be  elevated  and  has 
property  rights  guaranteed  ;  and,  instead  of  wit 
nessing  human  sacrifices,  you  see  the  cottager 
reading  the  Koran  at  her  door,  like  the  Chris 
tian  cottager  in  Cowper's  description.  "Its 
gradual  extension,"  says  an  eye-witness,  "is 
gradually  but  surely  modifying  the  negro.  .  .  . 
Within  the  last  half  century  the  humanizing 
influence  of  the  Koran  is  acknowledged  by  all 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  interior  tribes." 
So  in  India,  Mohammedanism  makes  converts 
by  thousands,  according  to  Colonel  Sleeman, 
where  Christianity  makes  but  a  handful ;  and 
this,  he  testifies,  because  in  Mohammedanism 
there  is  no  spirit  of  caste,  while  Christians  have 
a  caste  of  their  own,  and  will  not  put  converts 
on  an  equality  with  themselves.  Do  we  rejoice 
in  this  great  work  of  progress  ?  No !  one  would 
think  we  were  still  in  the  time  of  the  crusades 
by  the  way  we  ignore  the  providential  value  of 
Mohammedanism.1 

1  Capt.  Canot,  pp.  153,  180,  181  ;  Wilson's  Western  Africa, 
75,  79,  92;  Richardson's  Great  Desert,  ii.  63,  129;  John- 


345 

The  one  unpardonable  sin  is  exclusiveness. 
Any  form  of  religion  is  endangered  when  we 

ston's  Abyssinia,  i.  267 ;  Allen's  Niger  Expedition,  i.  383 ; 
Du  Chaillu,  Ashango  Land,  xiii.  129.  Barth,  passim,  espe 
cially  (i.  310,  Am.  ed.) :  "That  continual  struggle,  which  al 
ways  continuing  further  and  further,  seems  destined  to  over 
power  the  nations  at  the  very  equator,  if  Christianity  does  not 
presently  step  in  to  dispute  the  ground  with  it."  He  says 
"  that  a  great  part  of  the  Berbers  of  the  desert  were  once 
Christians,  and  that  they  afterwards  changed  their  religion 
and  adopted  Islam  "  (i.  197, 198).  He  represents  the  slave  mer 
chants  of  the  interior  as  complaining  that  the  Mohammedans 
of  Tunis  have  abolished  slavery,  but  that  Christians  still  con 
tinue  it  (i,  465).  "It  is  difficult  to  decide  how  a  Christian 
government  is  to  deal  with  these  countries,  where  none  but 
Mohammedans  maintain  any  sort  of  government "  (ii.  196). 
"  There  is  a  vital  principle  in  Islam,  which  has  only  to  be 
brought  out  by  a  reformer  to  accomplish  great  things  "  (L 
164). 

Reade,  in  his  Savage  Africa,  discusses  the  subject  fully  in 
a  closing  chapter,  and  concludes  thus :  "  Mohammed,  a  ser 
vant  of  God,  redeemed  the  eastern  world,  His  followers  are 
now  redeeming  Africa.  .  .  .  Let  us  aid  the  Mohammedans  in 
their  great  work,  the  redemption  of  Africa.  ...  In  every 
Mohammedan  town  there  is  a  public  school  and  a  public 
library."  He  complains  that  Christianity  utterly  fails  to  check 
theft,  but  Mohammedanism  stops  it  entirely  (pp.  135,  579, 
English  ed.). 

For  Asiatic  Mohammedanism,  see  Sleemarfs  Recollections, 
ii.  164,  and  compare  Tennent's  Christianity  in  Ceylon, 
p.  330,  and  Max  Muller's  Chips  from  a  German  Workshop, 

ii-  35i- 

Since  the  above  note  was  written,  this  whole  subject  has 
been  exhaustively  treated  by  R.  Bosworth  Smith,  M.  A., 
Assistant  Master  in  Harrow  School,  in  the  first  of  his  admir 
able  Lectures  before  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain, 
on  "  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism  "  (pp.  49-66,  Am.  ed.). 


346    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

bring  it  to  the  test  of  practical  results,  for  none 
can  yet  bear  that  test.  There  never  existed  a 
person,  a  book,  or  an  institution,  which  did  not 
share,  however  distantly,  the  merits  and  the 
drawbacks  of  its  rivals.  Granting  all  that  can 
be  established  as  to  the  debt  of  the  world  to  the 
very  best  dispensation,  the  fact  still  remains, 
that  there  is  not  a  single  maxim,  or  idea,  or 
application,  or  triumph,  that  any  one  religion 
can  claim  as  exclusively  its  own.  Neither  faith, 
nor  love,  nor  truth,  nor  disinterestedness,  nor 
forgiveness,  nor  patience,  nor  peace,  nor  equal 
ity,  nor  education,  nor  missionary  effort,  nor 
prayer,  nor  honesty,  nor  the  sentiment  of  bro 
therhood,  nor  reverence  for  woman,  nor  the 
spirit  of  humility,  nor  the  fact  of'  martyrdom, 
nor  any  other  good  thing,  is  monopolized  by 
any  form  of  faith.  All  religions  recognize, 
more  or  less  remotely,  these  principles ;  all  do 
something  to  exemplify,  something  to  dishonor 
them.  Travelers  find  that  virtue  is  in  a  seem 
ing  minority  in  all  other  countries,  and  forget 
that  they  have  left  it  in  a  minority  at  home.  A 
Hindoo  girl,  astonished  at  the  humanity  of  a 
British  officer  toward  her  father,  declared  her 
surprise  that  any  one  could  display  so  much 
kindness  who  did  not  believe  in  the  God  Vishnu. 
Rev.  J.  R.  Wolf,  an  English  missionary,  met  a 
Buddhist  who  readily  offered  to  believe  in  Jesus 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       347 

Christ  if  the  missionary  would  believe  in  Buddha. 
Gladwin,  in  his  "Persian  Classics,"  narrates  a 
scene  which  occurred  in  his  presence  between 
a  Jew  and  a  Mohammedan.  The  Mohammedan 
said  in  wrath,  "If  this  deed  of  conveyance  is 
not  authentic,  may  God  cause  me  to  die  a  Jew." 
The  Jew  said,  "  I  make  my  oath  on  the  Penta 
teuch,  and  if  I  swear  falsely  I  am  a  Moham 
medan  like  you." 

What  religion  stands  highest  in  its  moral 
results,  if  not  Christianity  ?  Yet  Christendom 
has  produced  the  slave-trader  as  well  as  the 
saint.  If  we  say  that  Christendom  was  not 
truly  represented  by  the  slaves  in  the  hold  of 
John  Newton's  slave-ship,  but  only  by  his  pious 
meditations  in  the  cabin,  then  we  must  admit 
that  Buddhism  is  not  be  judged  merely  by  its 
prostrations  before  Fo,  but  by  the  learning  of 
its  lamaseries  and  the  beneficence  of  its  people. 
Keshub  Chunder  Sen  goes  from  India  to  Eng 
land,  and  implores  Christians  to  cease  demoral 
izing  the  young  Hindoos  by  teaching  them  the 
use  of  strong  drink.  "  Man  after  man  dies,"  he 
says,  "and  people  sometimes  compute  the  re 
sults  of  English  education  by  the  number  of 
deaths  that  actually  take  place,  every  month 
and  year,  through  intemperance."  The  greater 
humanity  of  Hindoos  towards  animals  has  been, 
according  to  Dr.  Hedge,  a  serious  embarrass- 


348     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ment  to  our  missionaries.  Men  interrupt  the 
missionaries  in  China,  Coffin  tells  us,  by  asking 
them  why,  if  their  doctrines  are  true,  Christian 
nations  forced  opium  on  an  unwilling  emperor, 
who  refused  to  the  last  to  receive  money  from 
the  traffic  ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  Gutzlaff,  a 
missionary,  -accompanied  the  English  ships,  as 
interpreter,  on  that  occasion.1 

What  a  history  has  been  our  treatment  of 
the  American  Indians  !  "  Instead  of  virtues," 
said  Cadwallader  Colden,  writing  as  early  as 
1727,  "we  have  taught  them  vices  that  they 
were  entirely  free  from  before  that  time."  The 
delegation  from  the  Society  of  Friends  reported, 
in  1869,  that  an  Indian  chief  brought  a  young 
Indian  before  a  white  commissioner  to  give  evi 
dence,  and  the  commissioner  hesitated  a  little 
in  receiving  a  part  of  the  testimony,  when  the 
chief  said  with  great  emphasis,  "  Oh !  you  may 

1  Keshub  Chunder  Sen  in  England,  by  S.  D.  Collett,  p. 
265,  also  pp.  152,  221,  etc.;  Hedge's  Primeval  World  of 
Hebrew  Tradition,  p.  83  ;  Coffin's  New  Way  round  the  World, 
pp.  270,  308,  361  ;  Williams's  Middle  Kingdom,  ii.  529,  544. 
Mr.  Williams  states  that  the  Chinese  emperor  caused  to  be 
destroyed  20,291  chests  of  opium,  and  calls  the  act  "  a  soli 
tary  instance  in  the  history  of  the  world  of  a  pagan  monarch 
preferring  to  destroy  what  would  injure  his  own  subjects,  than 
to  fill  his  pockets  with  .its  sale."  Dr.  Jeffreys  was  told  by  a 
Mussulman  in  India,  speaking  of  a  certain  tribe,  that  he  knew 
they  were  Christians  "  from  their  being  nearly  all  drunkards." 
British  Army  in  India,  by  Jeffreys,  p.  19. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       349 

believe  what  he  says :  he  tells  the  truth :  he 
has  never  seen  a  white  man  before ! "  In 
Southey's  "Wesley"  there  is  an  account  of  an 
Indian  whom  Wesley  met  in  Georgia,  and  who 
thus  summed  up  his  objections  to  Christianity: 
"  Christian  much  drunk !  Christian  beat  man ! 
Christian  .tell  lies !  Devil  Christian !  Me  no 
Christian !  "  1  What  then  ?  All  other  religions 

1  Colden's  History  of  the  Five  Indian  Nations  (dedication). 
He  says  also,  "  We  have  reason  to  be  ashamed  that  those 
infidels,  by  our  conversation  and  neighborhood,  are  become 
worse  than  they  were  before  they  knew  us."  It  appears  from 
this  book  (as  from  other  witnesses),  that  one  of  the  worst 
crimes  now  practised  by  Indians  has  sprung  up  since  that 
day,  being  certainly  countenanced  by  the  brutalities  practised 
by  whites  towards  Indian  women.  Golden  says :  "  I  have 
been  assured  that  there  is  not  an  instance  of  their  offering  the 
least  violence  to  the  chastity  of  any  woman  that  was  their 
captive."  Vol.  i.  p.  9,  3d  ed.  [It  is  probable,  however,  that 
different  tribes  have  always  differed  in  this  respect.  Com 
pare  Parkman's  Pontiac,  ii.  236 ;  Southey's  Wesley,  chap, 
iii. ;  Report  of  Joint  Delegation  of  the  Society  of  Friends, 
1869.]  The  Indians  whom  Catlin  took  with  him  to  England 
could  not  be  made  to  understand  why  missionaries  were  sent 
from  London  to  convert  the  red  men,  when  there  was  so 
much  more  vice  and  suffering  in  London  than  in  the  Indian 
country.  They  said  :  "  The  people  around  us  can  all  read  the 
good  book,  and  they  can  understand  all  the  black  coats  say ; 
and  still  we  find  they  are  not  so  honest  and  so  good  people 
as  ours ;  this  we  are  sure  of.  ...  We  believe  that  the  Great 
Spirit  has  made  our  religion  for  us  and  white  man's  religion 
for  white  men.  Their  sins  we  believe  are  much  greater  than 
ours ;  and  perhaps  the  Great  Spirit  has  thought  it  best  to 
give  them  a  different  religion."  Catlin's  Indians  in  Europe, 
i.  164  ;  ii.  40  ;  also  ii.  61,  71. 


350    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

show  the  same  discrepancy  between  belief  and 
practice,  and  each  is  safe  till  it  begins  to  tra 
duce  the  rest.  Test  each  sect  by  its  best  or  its 
worst  as  you  will,  by  its  high-water  mark  of 
virtue  or  its  low-water  mark  of  vice.  But  false 
hood  begins  when  you  measure  the  ebb  of  any 
other  religion  against  the  flood-tide  of  your 
own. 

There  is  a  noble  and  a  base  side  to  every 
history.  The  same  religion  varies  in  different 
soils.  Christianity  is  not  the  same  in  England 
and  Italy ;  in  Armenia  and  in  Ethiopia ;  in  the 
Protestant  and  Catholic  cantons  of  Switzer 
land  ;  in  Massachusetts  and  in  Utah.  Neither 
is  Buddhism  the  same  in  China,  in  Thibet,  and 
in  Ceylon ;  nor  Mohammedanism  in  Turkey 
and  in  Persia.  We  have  no  right  to  pluck  the 
best  fruit  from  one  tree,  the  worst  from  an 
other,  and  then  say  that  the  tree  is  known  by 
its  fruits.  I  say  again,  Christianity  has,  on  the 
whole,  produced  the  highest  results  of  all,  in 
manners,  in  arts,  in  virtue.  Yet  when  Chris 
tianity  had  been  five  centuries  in  the  world,  the 
world's  only  hope  seemed  to  be  in  the  superior 
strength  and  purity  of  Pagan  races.  "  Can  we 
wonder,"  wrote  Salvian  (A.  D.  400),  "if  our 
lands  have  been  given  over  to  the  barbarians  by 
God  ?  since  that  which  we  have  polluted  by  our 
profligacy  the  barbarians  have  cleansed  by  their 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       351 

chastity."1  At  the  end  of  its  first  thousand 
years,  Christianity  could  only  show  Europe  at 
its  lowest  ebb  of  civilization,  in  a  state  which 
Guizot  calls  "  death  by  the  extinction  of  every 
faculty."  The  barbarians  had  only  deteriorated 
since  their  conversion ;  the  great  empires  were 
falling  to  pieces ;  and  the  only  bright  spot  in 
Europe  was  Mohammedan  Spain,  whose  univer 
sities  taught  all  Christendom  science,  as  its 
knights  taught  chivalry.  Even  at  the  end  of 
fifteen  hundred  years,  the  Turks,  having  con 
quered  successively  Jerusalem  and  Constanti 
nople,  seemed  altogether  the  most  powerful 
nation  of  the  world ;  their  empire  was  com 
pared  to  the  Roman  empire ;  they  were  gaining 
all  the  time.  You  will  find  everywhere  —  in 
Luther's  "  Table-talk,"  for  instance  — how  weak 
Christendom  seemed  against  them  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  sixteenth  century ;  and  Lord  Bacon, 
yet  later,  describes  them  in  his  "  Essays  "  as  the 
only  warlike  nation  in  Europe  except  the  Span 
iards.  But  the  art  of  printing  had  been  dis 
covered,  and  that  other  new  world,  America ; 
the  study  of  Greek  literature  was  reviving  the 
intellect  of  Europe,  and  the  tide  had  begun  to 
turn.  For  four  hundred  years  it  has  been  safe 

1  "  Cum  ea  quae  Roman!  polluerant  fornicatione,  nunc  mun- 
dent  barbari  castitate."  Salvian,  Dt  Gubern.  Dei,  ed.  1623, 
p.  254,  quoted  in  Gilly's  Vigilantius,  p.  360. 


352    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

for  Christendom  to  be  boastful,  but  if  at  any 
time  during  the  fifteen  hundred  years  previous 
the  comparison  had  been  made,  the  boasting 
would  have  been  the  other  way.  It  is  unsafe 
to  claim  a  monopoly  of  merit  on  the  basis  of 
facts  that  cover  four  centuries  out  of  nineteen. 
Let  us  not  be  misled  by  a  hasty  vanity,  lest 
some  new  incursion  of  barbarians  teach  us,  as 
it  taught  the  early  Christians,  to  be  humble. 

We  see  what  Christianity  has  done  for  Eu 
rope  ;  but  we  do  not  remember  how  much 
Europe  has  done  for  Christianity."  *  Take 
away  the  influence  of  race  and  climate ;  take 
away  Greek  literature  and  Mohammedan  chiv 
alry  and  the  art  of  printing ;  set  the  decline  of 
Christianity  in  Asia  and  Africa  against  its  gain 
in  Europe  and  America, — and,  whatever  supe 
riority  may  be  left,  it  affords  no  basis  for  any 

1  "  Neither  history  nor  more  recent  experience  can  furnish 
any  example  of  the  long  retention  of  pure  Christianity  by  a 
people  themselves  rude  and  unenlightened.  In  all  the  nations 
of  Europe,  embracing  every  period  since  the  second  century, 
Christianity  must  be  regarded  as  having  taken  the  hue  and 
complexion  of  the  social  state  with  which  it  was  incorporated, 
presenting  itself  unsullied,  contaminated,  or  corrupted,  in 
sympathy  with  the  enlightenment  or  ignorance  or  debasement 
of  those  by  whom  it  had  been  originally  embraced.  The 
rapid  and  universal  degeneracy  of  the  early  Asiatic  churches 
is  associated  with  the  decline  of  education  and  the  intellec 
tual  decay  of  the  communities  among  whom  they  were  estab 
lished."  Tennent's  Christianity  in  Ceylon,  p.  273. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       353 

exclusive  claims.1  The  recent  scientific  advances 
of  the  age  are  a  brilliant  theme  for  the  rheto 
rician  ;  but  those  who  make  these  advances 
appear  very  little  disposed  to  ascribe  them  to 
the  influence  of  any  form  of  religion. 

Indeed  it  is  only  very  lately  that  the  claim  of 
superiority  in  civilization  and  the  arts  of  life 
has  been  made  in  behalf  of  Christianity.  Down 
to  the  time  of  the  Reformation  it  was  usual  to 
contrast  the  intellectual  and  practical  superior 
ity  of  the  heathen  with  the  purely  spiritual 
claims  of  the  church.  Ruskin  complains  that 
in  Raphael's  decorations  of  the  Vatican  he  con 
cedes  Philosophy  and  Poetry  to  the  ancients, 
and  claims  only  Theology  for  the  moderns. 
"  From  the  beginning  of  the  world,"  said  Luther, 
"  there  have  always  been  among  the  heathens 
higher  and  rarer  people,  of  greater  and  more 
exalted  understanding,  more  excellent  diligence 
and  skill  in  all  arts,  than  among  Christians,  or 
the  people  of  God."  "Do  we  excel  in  intellect, 
in  learning,  in  decency  of  morals  ? "  said  Me- 

1  For  the  influence  of  Mohammedanism  on  the  revival  of 
letters  in  Europe,  see  Andres,  Origine  di  ogni  litteratura ; 
Jourdain,  Recherches  critiques  sur  les  traductions  latines 
d'Aristote ;  Schmolders,  Ecoles  Philosophiques  entre  les 
Arabes  ;  Forster,  Mohammedanism  Unveiled  ;  Urquhart,  Pil 
lars  of  Hercules ;  Lecky's  Rationalism,  ii.  284;  Humboldt's 
Cosmos,  ii.  xvii.  579,  584,  594;  Neander's  Church  History 
(Am.  tr.),  iv.  301. 


354     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

lanchthon.  "  By  no  means.  But  we  excel  in 
the  true  knowledge  and  worship  and  adoration 
of  God."  "  The  church  has  always  been  ac 
customed,"  says  the  Roman  Catholic  Digby, 
"to  see  genius  and  learning  in  the  ranks  op 
posed  to  her."1 

Historically,  of  course,  we  are  Christians,  and 
can  enjoy  the  advantage  which  that  better 
training  has  given,  just  as  the  favored  son  of  a 
king  may  enjoy  his  special  advantages  and  yet 
admit  that  the  less  favored  are  also  sons.  The 
name  of  Christianity  only  ceases  to  excite  re 
spect  when  it  is  used  to  represent  any  false  or 
exclusive  claims,  or  when  it  takes  the  place  of 
the  older  and  grander  words,  "  Religion  "  and 
"  Virtue."  When  we  fully  comprehend  the  sym 
pathy  of  religions  we  shall  deal  with  other 
faiths  on  fairer  terms.  We  shall  cease  trying 
to  free  men  from  one  superstition  by  inviting 
them  into  another.  The  true  missionaries  are 
men  inside  each  religion  who  have  outgrown 
its  limitations.  But  no  Christian  missionary 
has  ever  yet  consented  to  meet  the  man  of 
other  religions  upon  the  common  ground  of 

1  "  Quid  igitur  nos  antecellimus  ?  Num  ingenio,  doctrina, 
morum  moderatione  illos  superamus?  Nequaqum.  Sed 
vera  Dei  agnitione,  invocatione  et  celebratione  prsestamus." 
Melanchthon,  quoted  by  Feuerbach,  Essence  of  Christianity, 
(Eng.  tr.),  p.  284.  He  also  cites  the  passage  from  Luther. 
Digby's  Ages  of  Faith  (Am.  ed.),  ii.  84. 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       355 

Theism.  In  Bishop  Heber's  time,  the  Hindoo 
reformer  Swamee  Narain  was  teaching  purity 
and  peace,  the  unity  of  God,  and  the  abolition 
of  caste.  Many  thousands  of  men  followed  his 
teachings,  and  whole  villages  and  districts  were 
raised  from  the  worst  immorality  by  his  labors, 
as  the  Bishop  himself  bears  witness.  But  t^ie 
good  Bishop  seems  to  have  despaired  of  him 
as  soon  as  Swamee  Narain  refused  conversion 
to  Christianity,  making  the  objection  that  God 
was  not  incarnated  in  one  man,  but  in  many. 
Then  there  was  Ram  Mohun  Roy,  sixty  years 
ago,  who  argued  from  the  Vedas  against  idola 
try,  caste,  and  the  burning  of  widows.  He 
also  refused  to  be  called  a  Christian,  and  the 
missionaries  denounced  him.  Now  comes  Ke- 
shub  Chunder  Sen,  with  his  generous  utter 
ances  :  "  We  profess  the  universal  and  absolute 
religion,  whose  cardinal  doctrines  are  the  Fa 
therhood  of  God  and  the  Brotherhood  of  Man, 
and.  which  accepts  the  truths  of  all  scriptures, 
and  honors  the  prophets  of  all  nations."  The 
movement  reaches  thousands  whom  no  foreign 
influence  could  touch  ;  yet  the  Methodist  mis 
sionaries  denounce  it  in  the  name  of  Christ.  It 
is  the  same  with  our  treatment  of  the  Jews. 
According  to  Bayard  Taylor,  Christendom  con 
verts  annually  three  of  four  Jews  in  Jerusalem, 
at  a  cost  of  $20,000  each  ;  and  yet  the  reformed 


356    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Jews  in  America  have  already  gone  in  advance 
of  the  most  liberal  Christian  sects  in  their 
width  of  religious  sympathy.  "  The  happiness 
of  man,"  says  Rabbi  Wise,  speaking  for  them, 
"  depends  on  no  creed  and  no  book ;  it  depends 
on  the  dominion  of  truth,  which  is  the  Redeemer 
and  Saviour,  the  Messiah  and  the  King  of 
Glory."  i 

It  is  our  happiness  to  live  in  a  time  when  all 
religions  are  at  last  outgrowing  their  mytholo 
gies,  and  emancipated  men  are  stretching  out 
their  hands  to  share  together  "  the  luxury  of  a 
religion  that  does  not  degrade."  The  progres 
sive  Brahmoes  of  India,  the  Mohammedan 
students  in  London,  the  Jewish  radicals  in 
America,  are  teaching  essentially  the  same  prin 
ciples,  seeking  the  same  ends,  with  the  most 
enlightened  Christian  reformers.  The  Jewish 
congregations  in  Baltimore  were  the  first  to  con 
tribute  for  the  education  of  the  freedmen  ;  the 

1  Rabbi  Wise's  remarks  maybe  found  in  the  Report  of  the 
Free  Religious  Association  for  1869,  p.  118.  For  Swamee 
Narain,  see  Heber's  Journal,  ii.  109-121  (Am.  ed.).  For  Ram 
Mohun  Roy,  see  his  translation  of  the  Sama  Veda  (Calcutta, 
1816),  his  two  tracts  on  the  burning  of  widows  (Calcutta,  1818, 
1820),  and  other  pamphlets.  Victor  Jacquemont  wrote  of 
him  from  Calcutta  in  1830,  "  II  n'est  pas  Chretien  quoi  qu'on 
en  disc.  .  .  .  Les  honnetes  Anglais  1'execrent  parce  que,  di- 
sent  ils,  c'est  un  affreux  deiste."  Lettres,  i.  288.  Keshub 
Chunder  Sen  complains  of  his  own  treatment  by  the  mission 
aries  (Collet,  302,  375)., 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       357 

Buddhist  temple,  in  San  Francisco,  was  the 
first  edifice  of  that  city  draped  in  mourning 
after  the  murder  of  President  Lincoln;  the 
Parsees  of  the  East  sent  contributions  to  the 
Sanitary  Commission.  The  great  religions  of 
the  world  are  but  larger  sects ;  they  come 
together,  like  the  lesser  sects,  for  works  of 
benevolence  ;  they  share  the  same  aspirations, 
and  every  step  in  the  progress  of  each  brings  it 
nearer  to  all  the  rest.  For  most  of  us  in  Amer 
ica,  the  door  out  of  superstition  and  sin  may  be 
called  Christianity  ;  that  is  our  historical  name 
for  it ;  it  is  the  accident  of  a  birthplace.  But 
other  nations  find  other  outlets  ;  they  must  pass 
through  their  own  doors,  not  through  ours ;  and 
all  will  come  at  last  upon  the  broad  ground  of 
God's  providing,  which  bears  no  man's  name. 
The  reign  of  heaven  on  earth  will  not  be  called 
the  Kingdom  of  Christ  or  of  Buddha,  —  it  will 
be  called  the  Church  of  God,  or  the  Common 
wealth  of  Man.  I  do  not  wish  to  belong  to 
a  religion  only,  but  to  the  religion  ;  it  must  not 
include  less  than  the  piety  of  the  world. 

If  one  insists  on  being  exclusive,  where  shall 
he  find  a  home  ?  What  hold  has  any  Protes 
tant  sect  among  us  on  a  thoughtful  mind  ? 
They  are  too  little,  too  new,  too  inconsistent,  too 
feeble.  What  are  these  children  of  a  day  com 
pared  with  that  magnificent  Church  of  Rome, 


358    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

which  counts  its  years  by  centuries,  and  its 
votaries  by  millions,  and  its  martyrs  by  myri 
ads  ;  with  kings  for  confessors  and  nations  for 
converts  ;  carrying  to  all  the  earth  one  Lord, 
one  faith,  one  baptism,  and  claiming  for  itself 
no  less  title  than  the  Catholic,  the  Universal  ? 
Yet  in  conversing  with  Catholics  one  is  again 
repelled  by  the  comparative  juvenility,  and 
modernness,  and  scanty  numbers  of  their 
church.  It  claims  to  be  elder  brother  of  our 
little  sects,  doubtless,  and  seems  to  have  most 
of  the  family  fortune.  But  the  whole  fortune 
is  so  small !  and  even  the  elder  brother  is  so 
young!  The  Romanist  himself  ignores  tradi 
tions  more  vast  than  his  own,  antiquity  more 
remote,  a  literature  of  piety  more  grand.  His 
temple  suffocates  :  give  us  a  shrine  still  wider ; 
something  than  this  Catholicism  more  catholic  ; 
not  the  Church  of  Rome,  but  of  God  and  Man ; 
a  Pantheon,  not  a  Parthenon  ;  the  true  semper, 
ubique,  et  ab  omnibus ;  the  Religion  of  the 
Ages,  Natural  Religion. 

I  was  once  in  a  Portuguese  cathedral  when, 
after  the  three  days  of  mourning,  in  Holy 
Week,  came  the  final  day  of  Hallelujah.  The 
great  church  had  looked  dim  and  sad,  with  the 
innumerable  windows  closely  curtained,  since 
the  moment  when  the  symbolical  bier  of  Jesus 
was  borne  to  its  symbolical  tomb  beneath  the 


THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS       359 

High  Altar,  while  the  three  mystic  candles 
blazed  above  it.  There  had  been  agony  and 
beating  of  cheeks  in  the  darkness,  while  ghostly 
processions  moved  through  the  aisles,  and  fear 
ful  transparencies  were  unrolled  from  the  pul 
pit.  The  priests  kneeled  in  gorgeous  robes, 
chanting,  with  their  heads  resting  on  the  altar 
steps  ;  the  multitude  hung  expectant  on  their 
words.  Suddenly  burst  forth  a  new  chant, 
"  Gloria  in  Excelsis  !  "  In  that  instant  every 
curtain  was  rolled  aside,  the  cathedral  was 
bathed  in  glory,  the  organs  clashed,  the  bells 
chimed,  flowers  were  thrown  from  the  galleries, 
little  birds  were  let  loose,  friends  embraced  and 
greeted  one  another,  and  we  looked  down  upon 
a  tumultuous  sea  of  faces,  all  floating  in  a  sun 
lit  haze.  And  yet,  I  thought,  the  whole  of  this 
sublime  transformation  consisted  in  letting  in 
the  light  of  day !  These  priests  and  attend 
ants,  each  stationed  at  his  post,  had  only  re 
moved  the  darkness  they  themselves  had  made. 
Unveil  these  darkened  windows,  but  remove 
also  these  darkening  walls  ;  the  temple  itself  is 
but  a  lingering  shadow  of  that  gloom.  Instead 
of  its  stifling  incense,  give  us  God's  pure  air, 
and  teach  us  that  the  broadest  religion  is  the 
best. 


THE   WORD   PHILANTHROPY 

SOME  writer  on  philology  has  said  that  there 
is  more  to  be  learned  from  language  itself  than 
from  all  that  has  been  written  by  its  aid.  It  is 
often  possible  to  reconstruct  some  part  of  the 
moral  attitude  of  a  race,  through  a  single  word 
of  its  language  ;  and  this  essay  will  simply  offer 
an  illustration  of  that  process. 

In  the  natural  sciences,  the  method  is  famil 
iar.  For  instance,  it  was  long  supposed  that 
the  mammoth  and  the  cave-bear  had  perished 
from  the  earth  before  man  appeared.  No  argu 
ment  from  the  occasional  intermixture  of  their 
bones  with  man's  was  quite  conclusive.  But 
when  there  was  dug  up  a  drawing  of  the  cave- 
bear  on  slate,  and  a  rude  carving  of  the  living 
mammoth,  mane  and  all,  on  a  tusk  of  the  animal 
itself,  then  doubt  vanished,  and  the  question 
was  settled.  Thoreau  has  remarked  that  "  some 
circumstantial  evidence  may  be  very  strong,  as 
where  you  find  a  live  trout  in  the  milk-pan." 

1  This  essay  appeared  originally  in  a  volume  called  Free 
dom  and  Fellowship  in  Religion  published  by  the  Free  Reli 
gious  Association. 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY          361 

These  discoveries  in  palaeontology  were  quite 
as  conclusive. 

Now  what  is  true  in  palaeontology  is  true  in 
philology  as  well.  When  a  word  comes  into  ex 
istence,  its  meaning  is  carved  on  the  language 
that  holds  it ;  if  you  find  the  name  of  a  certain 
virtue  written  in  a  certain  tongue,  then  the  race 
which  framed  that  language  knew  that  virtue. 
This  may  be  briefly  illustrated  by  the  history 
of  the  word  "  Philanthropy." 

This  word,  it  is  known,  came  rather  late  into 
the  English  tongue.  When  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
stepped  on  Plymouth  Rock,  in  1620,  though  they 
may  have  been  practising  what  the  word  meant, 
there  were  few  among  them  to  whom  its  sound 
was  familiar,  and  perhaps  none  who  habitually 
used  it.  It  is  not  in  Chaucer,  Spenser,  or  Shake 
speare.  It  is  not  even  in  the  English  Bible,  first 
published  in  161 1 ;  and  the  corresponding  Greek 
word,  occuring  three  times  in  the  original,  is 
rendered  in  each  case  by  a  circumlocution.  It 
does  not  appear  in  that  pioneer  English  Diction 
ary,  Minsheu's  "  Guide  to  the  Tongues,"  as  first 
published  in  1617.  It  does  not  appear  in  the 
Spanish  Dictionary  of  the  same  Minsheu,  in 
1623.  But  two  years  later  than  this,  in  the 
second  edition  of  his  "  Guide  to  the  Tongues  " 
(1625),  it  appears  as  follows,  among  the  new 
words  distinguished  by  a  dagger :  — 


362    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

"Philanthropic  ;  Humanitie,  a  loving  of  men." 
Then  follow  the  Greek  and  Latin  words,  as 
sources  of  derivation. 

This  is  the  first  appearance  in  print,  so  far  as 
my  knowledge  goes,  of  the  word  "  Philanthro 
pic."  But  Lord  Bacon,  publishing  in  the  same 
year  (1625)  his  essay  on  "  Goodness,  and  Good 
ness  of  Heart,"  —  the  thirteenth  of  the  series 
of  his  essays,  as  now  constituted,  and  occupying 
the  place  of  an  essay  on  "  Friendship,"  which 
stood  thirteenth  in  the  previous  editions,  —  uses 
the  word  in  its  Greek  form  only,  and  in  a  way 
that  would  seem  to  indicate,  but  for  the  evidence 
of  Minsheu,  that  it  had  not  yet  been  Anglicized. 
His  essay  opens  thus  :  "  I  take  goodness  in  this 
sense,  the  affecting  of  the  weal  of  men,  which 
is  what  the  Greeks  call  Philanthropia  ;  and  the 
word  Humanity,  as  it  is  used,  is  a  little  too 
light  to  express  it." 

The  next  author  who  uses  the  word  is  Jeremy 
Taylor.  It  is  true  that  in  his  "  Holy  Dying  " 
(1651),  when  translating  the  dying  words  of 
Cyrus  from  Xenophon's  "  Cyropaedia,"  he  ren 
ders  the  word  <£iXav0p(i»ros  "  a  lover  of  mankind," 
citing  the  original  Greek  in  the  margin.1  But 
in  Taylor's  sermons,  published  two  years  later 
(1653),  there  occur  the  first  instances  known  to 

1  Xen.,  Cyrop.,  viii.  7. 25.  Taylor's  Holy  Dying,  c.  ii.  §  3, 
par.  2. 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY          363 

me,  after  Minsheu,  of  the  use  of  the  Anglicized 
word.  Jeremy  Taylor  speaks  of  "  that  godlike 
excellency,  a  philanthropy  and  love  to  all  man 
kind;"  and  again,  of  "the  philanthropy  of 
God."  1  The  inference  would  seem  to  be  that 
while  this  word  had  now  become  familiar,  at 
least  among  men  of  learning,  the  corresponding 
words  "philanthropic"  and  "philanthropist" 
were  not  equally  well  known.  If  they  had  been, 
Jeremy  Taylor  would  probably  have  used  either 
the  one  or  the  other,  in  translating  the  words 
attributed  to  Cyrus. 

So  slowly  did  the  word  take  root,  indeed,  that 
when  so  learned  a  writer  as  Dryden  used  it, 
nearly  seventy  years  after  Minsheu,  he  still  did 
it  with  an  apology,  and  with  especial  reference 
to  the  Greek  author  on  whom  he  was  comment 
ing.  For  when,  in  1693,  Sir  Henry  Steere 
published  a  poor  translation  of  Polybius  and 
Dryden  was  employed  to  write  the  preface,  he 
said :  — 

"This  philanthropy  (which  we  have  not  a 
proper  word  in  English  to  express)  is  everywhere 
manifest  in  our  author,  and  from  hence  pro 
ceeded  that  divine  rule  which  he  gave  to  Scipio, 

1  Taylor's  Sermons,  vol.  iii.  Sermons  I  and  n.  (Cited 
in  Richardson's  Dictionary.)  In  his  sermon  entitled  Via  In 
telligent^,  he  quotes  the  Greek  adjective,  translating  it 
"  gentle." 


364    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

that  whensoever  he  went  abroad  he  should  take 
care  not  to  return  to  his  house  before  he  had 
acquired  a  friend  by  some  new  obligement." 

We  have,  then,  three  leading  English  writers 
of  the  seventeenth  century  —  Bacon,  Taylor, 
Dryden  —  as  milestones  to  show  how  gradually 
this  word  "philanthropy"  became  established 
in  our  language.  To  recapitulate  briefly :  Bacon 
uses  the  original  Greek  word,  spelled  in  Roman 
characters,  and  attributes  it  to  "  the  Grecians," 
saying  that  there  is  no  English  equivalent; 
Taylor,  twenty-eight  years  later,  uses  it  in 
Anglicized  form,  without  apology  or  explana 
tion,  although  when  quoting  and  translating  the 
Greek  word  <£iAav0pw7ros,  he  does  not  use  the 
equivalent  word  in  his  translation.  Dryden, 
forty  years  later,  commenting  on  a  Greek  author, 
makes  a  sort  of  apology  for  the  use  of  the  word, 
as  representing  something  "  which  we  have  not 
a  proper  word  in  English  to  express,"  although 
he  uses  the  English  form.  It  is  therefore  clear 
that  the  word  "  philanthropy "  was  taken 
directly  and  consciously  from  the  Greek,  for 
want  of  a  satisfactory  English  word.  Men  do 
not  take  the  trouble  to  borrow  a  word,  any  more 
than  an  umbrella,  if  they  already  possess  one 
that  will  answer  the  purpose. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  original  word  <£i\av- 
It  has  an  illustrious  position  in  Greek 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY  365 

literature  and  history.  It  affords  the  keynote 
to  the  greatest  dramatic  poem  preserved  to  us ; 
and  also  to  the  sublimest  life  of  Greece,  that 
of  Socrates.  It  was  first  used,  however,  in 
neither  of  these  connections,  but  by  an  obscurer 
writer,  Epicharmus,  whose  fragments  have  a 
peculiar  historical  value,  as  he  was  born  about 
540  B.  c.,  and  his  authority  thus  carries  back 
the  word  nearly  to  the  First  Olympiad,  776  B.  c., 
which  is  commonly  recognized  as  the  beginning 
of  authentic  history.  Setting  these  fragments 
aside,  however,  the  first  conspicuous  appearance 
of  the  word  in  literature  is  in  that  astonishing 
poem,  the  "  Prometheus  Bound  "  of  ^Eschylus, 
which  was  probably  represented  about  460  B.  c., 
as  the  central  play  of  a  "  trilogy,"  the  theme 
being  an  ideal  hero,  on  whom  the  vengeance  of 
Zeus  has  fallen  for  his  love  of  man.  The  word 
we  seek  occurs  in  the  first  two  speeches  of  the 
drama,  where  Strength  and  Hephaistos  (Vulcan) 
in  turn  inform  Prometheus  that  he  is  to  be 
bound  to  the  desert  rock  in  punishment  for 
his  philanthropy,  (fnXavdp^ov  rpoVov ;  and  it  is 
repeated  later,  in  the  most  magnificent  soliloquy 
in  ancient  literature,  where  Prometheus  accepts- 
the  charge,  and  glories  in  his  offence,  of  too 
much  love  for  man,  rrjv  Xtav  ^iXoTrp-a.  fiporuv.  He 
admits  that  when  Zeus  had  resolved  to  destroy 
the  human  race,  and  had  withdrawn  from  men 


366    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

the  use  of  fire,  he  himself  had  reconveyed  fire 
to  them,  and  thus  saved  them  from  destruction  ; 
that  he  had  afterwards  taught  them  to  tame 
animals,  to  build  ships,  to  observe  the  stars,  to 
mine  for  metals,  to  heal  diseases.  For  this  he 
was  punished  by  Zeus ;  for  this  he  defies  Zeus, 
and  predicts  that  his  tyranny  must  end,  and 
justice  be  done.  On  this  the  three  tragedies 
turn  ;  the  first  showing  Prometheus  as  carry 
ing  the  sacred  gift  of  fire  to  men  ;  the  second 
as  chained  to  Caucasus  ;  the  third  as  delivered 
from  his  chains.  If  we  had  the  first  play,  we 
should  have  the  virtue  of  philanthropy  exhibited 
in  its  details ;  if  we  had  the  last,  we  should  see 
its  triumph ;  but  in  the  remaining  tragedy  we 
see  what  is,  perhaps,  nobler  than  either,  —  the 
philanthropic  man  under  torment  for  his  self- 
devotion,  but  refusing  to  regret  what  he  has 
done.  There  is  not  a  play  in  modern  literature, 
I  should  say,  which  turns  so  directly  and  com 
pletely,  from  beginning  to  end,  upon  the  word 
and  the  thing  "philanthropy." 

Seeking,  now,  another  instance  of  the  early 
use  of  the  Greek  word,  and  turning  from  the 
ideal  to  the  actual,  we  have  Socrates,  in  the 
"  Euthyphron  "  of  Plato,  —  composed  probably 
about  400  B.  c.,  —  questioned  as  to  how  it  is 
that  he  has  called  upon  himself  the  vengeance 
of  those  in  power  by  telling  unwelcome  truths. 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY  367 

And  when  his  opponent  hints  that  he  himself 
has  never  got  into  any  serious  trouble,  Socrates 
answers,  in  that  half -jesting  way  which  he  never 
wholly  lays  aside  —  I  quote  Jowett's  transla 
tion  :  — 

"  I  dare  say  that  you  don't  make  yourself 
common,  and  are  not  apt  to  impart  your  wis 
dom.  But  I  have  a  benevolent  habit  of  pour 
ing  myself  out  to  everybody,  and  would  even 
pay  for  a  listener,  and  I  am  afraid  that  the 
Athenians  know  this."  The  phrase  rendered 
"  benevolent  habit "  is  O.TTO  <j>iXa.v6p<aTrias ; 1  that  is, 
"  through  philanthropy ;  "  and  I  know  nowhere 
a  franker  glimpse  of  the  real  man  Socrates. 

Coming  down  to  later  authors,  we  find  the 
use  of  the  word  in  Greek  to  be  always  such  as 
to  bring  out  distinctly  that  meaning  for  which 
it  has  been  imported  into  English.  How  apt  we 
are  to  say  that  the  Greeks  thought  only  of  the 
state,  not  of  individuals,  nor  of  the  world  out 
side  !  Yet  the  great  orator  Isocrates  (born  436 
B.  c.)  heaps  praises  upon  a  certain  person  as 
being*  one  who  loved  man  and  Athens  and  wis 
dom,  —  <f)i.\dv6p<aTro<s  KO.I  (f)i\aOr]valo<i  KOL  <£iAocro</>os, 

—  a  noble  epitaph. 

So  the  orator  Demosthenes  (born  385  B.  c.) 
uses  the  word  (friXavOpw-n-ia  in  contrast  to  </>0oVos, 
hate,  and  to  oy-iorr/s,  cruelty  ;  and  speaks  of  em- 

1  Plato,  Euthyph.,  §  3.    Jowett's  Plato,  i.  286. 


368    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

ploying  philanthropy  towards  any  one  <f>i\av- 
Qpwriav  rtvl  -^rfa-Qai.  So  Xenophon,  as  we  have 
seen,  makes  Cyrus  describe  himself  on  his 
deathbed  as  "  philanthropic." 

So  Epictetus,  at  a  later  period,  said,  "  Nothing 
is  meaner  than  the  love  of  pleasure,  the  love  of 
gain,  and  insolence ;  nothing  nobler  than  mag 
nanimity,  meekness,  and  philanthropy."  So 
Plutarch,  addressing  his  "  Consolations  to  Apol- 
lonius  "  on  the  death  of  his  son,  sums  up  the 
praises  of  the  youth  by  calling  him  "philan 
thropic,"  —  fjiiXdvOpomo?.  In  his  life  of  Solon, 
also,  he  uses  the  word  <£iA.av0pw7r«y<ia,  —  a  phi 
lanthropic  act.  So  Diodorus  speaks  of  a  desert 

country  as  eorepiy/AeVi;  irdcnrjs  <£iXa.v$po>7rias,  —  des 
titute  of  all  philanthropy,  or,  as  we  should  say, 
"  pitiless,"  —  as  if  wherever  man  might  be  there 
would  also  be  the  love  of  man.1 

We  have,  then,  a  virtue  called  philanthropy, 
which  dates  back  nearly  six  hundred  years  be 
fore  our  era,  and  within  about  two  centuries  of 
the  beginning  of  authentic  history, — a  virtue 
which  inspired  the  self-devotion  of  Prometheus 
in  the  great  tragedy  of  antiquity;  which 
prompted  the  manner  of  life  of  Socrates  ;  to 
which  Demosthenes  appealed,  in  opposition  to 

1  Isoc.,  Epist.,  v.  2  ;  Dem.,  Adv.  Lef  tines,  §  165 ;  Xen., 
Cyrop.,  viii.  7.  25  ;  Epict,  Frag.,  46;  Plut,  Cons.,  §  34,  Solon, 
§15;  Died.,  xvii.  50. 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY  369 

•  • 

hate  and  cruelty  ;  to  which  Isocrates  gave  pre 
cedence  before  the  love  of  country  and  the  love 
of  knowledge ;  which  Polybius  admired,  when 
shown  toward  captives ;  which  Epictetus  classed 
as  the  noblest  of  all  things ;  and  which  Plu 
tarch  inscribed  as  the  highest  praise  upon  the 
epitaph  of  a  noble  youth.  Thus  thoroughly 
was  the  word  "philanthropy"  rooted  in  the 
Greek  language,  and  recognized  by  the  Greek 
heart ;  and  it  is  clear  that  we,  speaking  a  lan 
guage  in  which  this  word  was  unknown  for  cen 
turies,  —  being  introduced  at  last,  according 
to  Dryden,  because  there  was  no  English  word 
to  express  the  same  idea,  —  cannot  claim  the 
virtue  it  expresses  as  an  exclusively  modern 
possession. 

It  is  worth  noticing  that  there  is  another  use 
of  the  word  "  philanthropy,"  which  prevailed 
among  the  Greeks,  and  was  employed  for  a 
time  in  English.  The  word  was  used  to  ex 
press  an  attribute  of  Deity,  as,  for  instance, 
when  Aristophanes  applies  it  to  Hermes,  O 
<£iA.aj/0pw7roTe,  "  O  !  most  philanthropic  "  —  that 
is,  loving  towards  man.  Paul  uses  the  Greek 
word  but  once,  and  then  in  this  same  sense  ; 
and  the  Greek  Father  Athanasius  uses  it  as  a 
term  of  courtesy,  'H  0-17  <f>L\avOpwirLa,  "  Your  phi 
lanthropy,"  as  we  say  to  republican  governors, 
"  Your  Excellency."  Young,  in  his  "  Night 


370     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

Thoughts,"  addresses  the  Deity,  "  Thou  great 
Philanthropist ;  "  Jeremy  Taylor  speaks  of  "the 
philanthropy  of  God  ; "  and  Barrow,  speaking 
of  the  goodness  of  God,  says,  "  Commonly  also 
it  is  by  the  most  obliging  and  endearing  name 
called  love  and  philanthropy."1  But  I  do  not 
recall  any  recent  instances  of  this  use  of  the 
word. 

And  the  use  of  this  word,  in  this  sense,  by 
the  Greeks,  reminds  us  that  the  Greek  religion, 
even  if  deficient  in  the  loveliest  spiritual  results, 
had  on  the  other  hand  little  that  was  gloomy 
or  terrifying.  Thus  the  Greek  funeral  inscrip 
tions,  though  never  so  triumphant  as  the  Chris 
tian,  were  yet  almost  always  marked,  as  Milman 
has  pointed  out,  by  a  "  quiet  beauty."  And 
this  word  "  philanthropy "  thus  did  a  double 
duty,  including  in  its  range  two  thoughts,  famil 
iar  to  modern  times  in  separate  phrases,  —  the 
Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  Brotherhood  of 
Man. 

It  is  to  this  consideration,  I  fancy,  that  we 
owe  those  glimpses  not  merely  of  general  phi 
lanthropy,  but  of  a  recognized  unity  in  the 
human  race,  that  we  find  from  time  to  time  in 

1  Aristoph.,  Peace,  394 ;  Paul,  Titus  iii.  4 ;  Athanasius,  cited 
in  Sophocles's  Lexicon ;  Young,  Night  Fourth ;  Taylor,  vol. 
iii.  sermon  n  (Richardson);  Barrow,  vol.  ii.  p.  356  (ed. 
1700). 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY  371 

ancient  literature.  It  is  hardly  strange  that  in 
Greece,  with  its  isolated  position,  its  exceptional 
cultivation  and  refinement,  and  its  scanty  com 
munications,  this  feeling  should  have  been  less 
prominent  than  in  a  world  girdled  with  railways 
and  encircled  by  telegraphic  wires.  In  those 
days  the  great  majority  of  men,  and  women 
almost  without  exception,  spent  their  lives 
within  the  limit  of  some  narrow  state ;  and  it 
was  hard  for  the  most  enlightened  to  think 
of  those  beyond  their  borders  except  as  we 
think  even  now  of  the  vast  populations  of  South 
America  or  Africa,  -.—whom  we  regard  as  human 
beings,  no  doubt,  but  as  having  few  habits  or 
interests  in  common  with  our  awn.  But  every 
great  conquest  by  Greece  or  Rome  tended  to 
familiarize  men  with  the  thought  of  a  commu 
nity  of  nations,  even  before  a  special  stimulus 
was  at  last  added  by  Christianity.  It  does  not 
seem  to  me  j  ust,  therefore,  in  Max  M  tiller  to  say 
that  "  humanity  is  a  word  for  which  you  look 
in  vain  in  Plato  or  Aristotle,"  without  pointing 
out  that  later  Greek  writers,  utterly  uninflu 
enced  by  Christianity,  made  the  same  criticism 
on  these  authors.  Thus,  in  an  essay  attributed 
to  Plutarch  on  the  Fortune  of  Alexander,  he 
makes  this  remarkable  statement :  — 

"  Alexander  did  not  hearken  to  his  preceptor 
Aristotle,  who  advised  him  to  bear  himself  as 


372     STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

a  prince  among  the  Greeks,  his  own  people, 
but  as  a  master  among  the  Barbarians ;  to  treat 
the  one  as  friends  and  kinsmen,  the  others  as 
animals  or  chattels.  .  .  .  But,  conceiving  that 
he  was  sent  by  God  to  be  an  umpire  between 
all  and  to  unite  all  together,  he  reduced  by 
arms  those  whom  he  could  not  conquer  by 
persuasion,  and  formed  of  a  hundred  diverse 
nations  one  single  universal  body,  mingling,  as 
it  were,  in  one  cup  of  friendship  the  customs, 
the  marriages,  and  the  laws  of  all.  He  desired 
that  all  should  regard  the  whole  world  as  their 
common  country,  the  good  as  fellow-citizens  and 
brethren,  the  bad  as  aliens  and  enemies  ;  that 
the  Greeks  should  no  longer  be  distinguished 
from  the  foreigner  by  arms  or  costume,  but  that 
every  good  man  should  be  esteemed  an  Hellene, 
every  evil  man  a  barbarian."  1 

Here  we  have  not  a  piece  of  vague  sentimen- 
talism,  but  the  plan  attributed  by  tradition  to 
one  of  the  great  generals  of  the  world's  history ; 
and  whether  this  was  Alexander's  real  thought, 
or  something  invented  for  him  by  biographers, 
it  is  equally  a  recognition  of  the  brotherhood 
of  man.  And  the  same  Plutarch  tells  us  that 
"  the  so  much  admired  commonwealth  of  Zeno, 

1  Merivale's  translation  :  Con-version  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
p.  64.  He  also  gives  the  original,  p.  203.  Compare  Good 
win's  Plutarch,  i.  481. 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY  373 

first  author  of  the  Stoic  sect,  aims  singly  at 
this,  that  neither  in  cities  nor  in  towns  we 
should  live  under  laws  distinct  from  one  another, 
but  that  we  should  look  on  all  men  in  general 
to  be  our  fellow-countrymen  and  citizens,  ob 
serving  one  manner  of  living  and  one  kind 
of  order,  like  a  flock  feeding  together  with 
equal  right  in  one  common  pasture."  l  So  Jam- 
blichus  reports  that  Pythagoras,  five  centuries 
before  our  era,  taught  "  the  love  of  all  to  all ; "  2 
and  Menander  the  dramatist  said,  "to  live  is 
not  to  live  for  one's  self  alone  ;  let  us  help  one 
another  ;  "  3  and  later,  Epictetus  maintained 
that  "  the  universe  is  but  one  great  city,  full  of 
beloved  ones,  divine  and  human,  by  nature  en 
deared  to  each  other;"4  and  Marcus  Antoninus 
taught  that  we  must  "  love  mankind."  6  In  none 
of  these  passages  do  we  find  the  Greek  word 
faXavOpuTTia ;  but  in  all  we  find  the  noble  feeling 
indicated  by  that  word;  while  Aulus  Gellius 
quotes  the  word  itself,  and  attaches  to  it  the 
selfsame  meaning  borne  by  the  English  word.6 

1  Plutarch's  Morals.    Goodwin's  translation,  i.  481. 

2  Jamblichi  de  Pythag.  vita,  cc.  1 6,  33.     &i\iav  5e  $ia<pai>fo~ 
rara  irdfruv  irpbs  &iravras  HvOay6pas  irapeSwKf. 

8  Meineke,  Fragmenta  Com.  Grac. 

*  Epictetus,  iii.  24. 

6  Marcus  Antoninus,  vii.  31.    <f>/A.ij<rov  rbv  kvQp&irivov  ytvos. 

6  Aulus  Gellius,  xiii.  xvi.  i.  "  Quodque  a  Graecis  <pi\av- 
Bpunrfa  dicitur,  et  signrficat  dexteritatem  quandam  benevolen- 
tiamque  erga  omnes  homines  promiscuam." 


374 

And  it  is  well  known  that  the  same  chain  of 
tradition  runs  through  the  Latin  writers,  as 
when  Terence  brought  down  the  applause  of 
the  theatre  by  saying,  "  Homo  sum ;  human! 
nihil  a  me  alienum  puto ; " 1  and  Cicero  says, 
"we  are  framed  by  nature  to  love  mankind 
(natura  propensi  sumus  ad  diligendos  homines) ; 
this  is  the  foundation  of  law ; "  and  Lucan  pre 
dicts  a  time  when  all  laws  shall  cease  and  nations 
disarm  and  all  men  love  one  another  (inque 
vicem  gens  omnis  amet) ;  and  Quintilian  teaches 
that  we  should  "give  heed  to  a  stranger  in  the 
name  of  the  universal  brotherhood  which  binds 
together  all  men  under  the  common  father  of 
Nature;"  and  Seneca  says  that  "we  are  mem 
bers  of  one  great  body,"  and  "born  for  the 
good  of  the  whole ;  "  and  Juvenal,  that  "  mutual 
sympathy  is  what  distinguishes  us  from  brutes." 

Shall  we  think  the  better  or  the  worse  of  the 
Greeks  for  having  no  noun  substantive  just  cor 
responding  to  our  word  "  philanthropist,"  whe 
ther  as  a  term  of  praise  or  reproach  ?  With  us, 
while  it  should  be  the  noblest  of  all  epithets, 
it  is  felt  in  some  quarters  to  carry  with  it  a 
certain  slight  tinge  of  suspicion,  as  is  alleged 

1  Terence,  Heaut.,  i.  I.  25  ;  Cicero,  De  Legibus,  i.  15,  and 
De  Repub.,  iii.  7.  7  (fragm.) ;  Lucan,  Pharsalia,  i.  60,  61  ; 
Quintilian,  Declamations,  quoted  by  penis  ;  Seneca,  £#.,  95. 
Juvenal,  Sat.,  xv.  140-142. 


THE  WORD  PHILANTHROPY  375 

of  the  word  "  deacon  "  or  "  Christian  states 
man."  There  is  a  peril  in  the  habit  of  doing 
good  ;  I  do  not  mean  merely  in  case  of  hypo 
crisy  ;  but  I  have  noticed  that  when  a  man  feels 
that  he  is  serving  his  fellow-men,  he  sometimes 
takes  great  liberties  in  the  process.  It  was  of 
this  style  of  philanthropists  that  old  Count 
Gurowski  spoke,  when  he  cautioned  a  young 
lady  of  my  acquaintance,  above  all  things, 
against  marrying  one  of  that  class.  "  Marry 
thief  ! "  he  said,  "  Marry  murderer !  But  marry 
philantrope  never-r-r ! " 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  while  the  generous 
word  "philanthropy"  was  thus  widely  used  in 
Greek  and  widely  spread  in  English,  there 
should  have  been  no  such  widespread  word  for 
the  answering  sin,  self-love.  The  word  </>iXouria 
was  known  to  the  Greeks,  and  a  word,  "  phil- 
auty,"  was  made  from  it,  in  English ;  and 
<£i'A.auros  is  used  once  in  the  New  Testament  by 
Paul ; 1  but  in  neither  language  did  it  become 
classic  or  familiar.  Minsheu  has  "  philautie  " 
in  his  second  edition,  and  Beaumont,  in  his 
poem  of  "  Psyche ; "  and  Holinshed,  in  his 
"Chronicle"  (15/7),  speaks  of  "philautie"  or 
"self-love,  which  rageth  in  men  so  preposter- 
ouslie."  But  the  word  is  omitted  from  most 
English  dictionaries,  and  we  will  hope  that  the 

1  2  Timothy  iii.  2. 


376    STUDIES  IN  HISTORY  AND  LETTERS 

sin  rages  less  "  preposterouslie  "  now.  I  once 
heard  a  mother  say  that  if  she  could  teach  her 
little  boy  good  words  one  half  as  easily  as  he 
could  learn  the  bad  ones  for  himself,  she  should 
be  quite  satisfied.  Here  is  the  human  race,  on 
the  other  hand,  seizing  eagerly  on  the  good 
word,  transplanting  it  and  keeping  it  alive  in 
the  new  soil,  while  the  bad  word  dies  out,  unre- 
gretted.  In  view  of  this,  we  may  well  claim 
that  our  debt  to  the  Greek  race  is  not  merely 
scientific  or  aesthetic,  but,  in  some  degree, 
moral  and  spiritual  also.  However  vast  may 
be  the  spread  of  human  kindliness  in  Christen 
dom,  we  should  yet  give  to  the  Greeks  some 
credit  for  the  spirit  of  philanthropy,  as  we  are 
compelled,  at  any  rate,  to  give  them  full  credit 
for  the  word. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ABBOT,  Ezra,  332  «. 

About,  Edmond,  271. 

Achilles,  130,  158. 

Achilles  Tatius,  193. 

Action,  149. 

Adam,  109. 

Adams,  John,  98. 

Adonis,  196. 

Adrasta,  156. 

/Elian,  177. 

./Eneas,  203. 

^Eschylus,  254,  341,  365. 

sEsop,  212. 

Agnodice,  152. 

Ainsworth,  Harrison,  280. 

Alaric,  Emperor,  253. 

Alcasus,  174-177. 

Alcestis,  157. 

Alcibiades,  152, 186. 

Alcippe,  156. 

Alexander  the  Great,  332  «.,  371, 

372- 

Alexander  (Paris),  138. 
Alford,  Henry,  262,  280. 
Allen,  J.  H.,  207. 
Alphonso,  Henry,  82, 
Ameipsias,  181. 
Amphis,  181. 
Anacreon,  174,  197. 
Anactoria,  170,  186. 
Anchises,  141. 
Andersen,  Hans,  312. 
Andres,  Juan,  353  «. 
Andromeda,  171,  186. 
Anne,  Queen,  212. 
Anne  of  Austria,  Queen,  41,  50, 

70,  72. 

Antibia,  160. 
Antigone,  157. 
Antipater,  153. 
Antiphanes,  181,  195. 
Antonines,  the,  186. 
Aphrodite,  135,  138,  139-142,  143, 

144.  '47,  149,  '5°,  165,  177,  189, 

192,  193,  196,  197. 
Apollomus,  331,  332  «.,  368. 
Archestratus,  170. 
Archilochus,  181. 


Ares,  141,  142. 

Aristides,  194. 

Aristophanes,  134,  180,  369,  370*. 

Aristotle,  176,  32i,322«.,  334,  341, 

3?i- 
Arnold,   Matthew,  231,   244,  246, 

277,  378,  283,  384. 
Amould,  Aug^lique,  72. 
Arnould,  Antoine,  71. 
Artemis,    135-139,    141,    142,    147, 

149-151,  156,  160,  161, 
Aspasia,  180. 
Astarte,  132. 
Astley,  Sir  Jacob,  12. 
Athanasius,  369,  370  n. 
Athena,  133-139,  141,  143, 147,  149- 

151. 

Athenasus,  173,  195. 
Atkinson,  W.  P.,  209. 
Atthis,  171,  186. 
Auerbach,  Berthold,  240. 
Aulus  Gellius,  340  «.,  373. 
Austen,  Jane,  208,  250,  316. 
Austin,  Alfred,  280. 
Avery,  Widow,  108. 

Bacchus,  174,  321,  322. 
Bachaumont,  Counsellor,  46. 
Bacon,  Francis,  Lord,  351, 362, 364. 
Bailey,  John,  103. 
Bailey,  P.  J.,  262. 
Ballard,  Colonel,  8. 
Balmes,  J.  L.,  337. 
Balzac,  Honore  de,  261. 
Barrow,  Isaac,  370. 
Barth,  Heinrich,  344  ». 
Bartlett,  John,  314. 
Bavaria,  Elector  of,  75. 
Baxter.  Richard,  28. 
Beaufort,  Duke  of,  48. 
Beaumont,  Francis,  375. 
Becker,  W.  A.,  153. 
Bedford,  Earl  of,  36. 
Beecher,  H.  W.,  264. 
Bellingham,  Governor,  yj, 
Benserade,  Isaac  de,  So.  ' 
Bigelow,  Jacob,  209. 
Blackman,  Adam,  124. 


3&> 


INDEX 


Blake,  William,  $79,  315. 

Bolton,  Samuel,  122. 

Bonaparte.     See  Napoleou. 

Bossuet,  J.  B.,  80. 

Bouillon,  Duchesse  de,  49. 

Bourdaloue,  Louis,  80. 

Bregy,  Mme.  de,  71. 

Bremer,  Frederika,  262. 

Bridaine,  Jacques,  312. 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  230. 

Brooke,  Lord,  8. 

Brown,  C.  B.,  257. 

Brown,  John,  255. 

Browne,   C.    F.  (Artemus  Ward), 

264. 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  115. 
Browning,  Robert,  185,  201,   229, 

259,  260,  280. 
Brunck,  R.  F.  P.,  137  ».,  159  «., 

160  «.,  161  «.,  171  n. 
Buckingham,  Duke  of,  41,  50,  52. 
Buckle,  H.  T.,  16. 
Buddha,  324,  326,  333,  336. 
Bussy-Rabutin,  Roger  de,  69. 
Byles,  Mather,  89. 
Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord,  193, 

223,  257,  278,  315. 

Cable,  G.  W.,  251. 

Calf,  John,  97. 

Callima'chus,  135,  138. 

Calvin,  John,  94,  97,  100. 

Canot,  Captain,  344  ». 

Carew,  Thomas,  130. 

Carlisle,  Lucy,  6,  17. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  262. 

Catlin,  George,  349  «. 

Catullus^  174. 

Cercolas,  172. 

Ceres,  135,  145,  322. 

Channing,  E.  T.,  280. 

Channing,  Dr.  Walter,  311. 

Chapelain,  Jean,  278. 

Chapman,  George,  230. 

Charaxus,  172. 

Charles  I.,  King,  9,  n,  16,  41,  43. 

Charles  II.,  King,  22, 36, 61,  75,81. 

Charmides,  186. 

Chatham,  Lord,  109. 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  361. 

Chauncy,  Charles,  114. 

Cherbuliez,  Victor,  268. 

Chevreuse,  Duchesse  de,  44,  47, 48. 

Choate,  Rufus,  311. 

Choisy,  Mme.  de,  71. 

Christ,   Jesus,  162,  324,  340,  341, 

.346. 

Cicero,  253,  255,  331,  332  «.,  374. 
Clarendon,  Earl  of,  n,  is,  22,  33, 

35,  36. 


Cleanthes,  321,  322  «.,  338. 
Cleis,  172. 

Cl^mence  de  Maille,  49,  76. 
Clemens,    S.    L.    (Mark  Twain), 

262. 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  338,  339  «. 
Cleobulus,  334,  335  «. 
Cleopatra,  173,  247. 
Co'dy,  W.  F.  (Buffalo  Bill),  283. 
Coffin,  C.  C.,  348. 
Colbert,  Mile.,  77. 
Golden,  Cadwallader,  348,  349  «. 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  313,  315. 
Coligny,  Gaspard  de,  35. 
Collet,  Sophia  Dobson,  329  «. 
Collett,  S.  D.,  348  «.,  356  «. 
Columbus,  Christopher,  319. 
Cond£,  Henri  Jules  de  Bourbon, 

Prince  de,  75. 
Conde,    Louis    II.    de    Bourbon, 

Prince  de,  42,  43,  47,  49,  50,  52, 

54-60, 61,  64-68,  70,  73,  75,  80,  81. 
Conde\  Princess,  80. 
Conrart,  Valentin,  64. 
Conti,  Armand  de  Bourbon,  Prince 

de,  43,  47- 

Confucius,  322,  326,  330,  332  n. 
Cooper,  J.  F.,  241,  263. 
Corinna,  152,  174. 
Corneille,  Pierre,  80,  278. 
Cotton,  John,  105,  119,    123,   124, 

126. 

Coulanges,  M.  de,  76. 
Coulanges,  Madame  de,  77. 
Cousin,  Victor,  3,  13,  42,  47. 
Cowper,  William,  344. 
Cranch,  William,  98. 
Cr£qui,  Mile,  de,  77. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  14,  17,  34-36,  74. 
Crosse,  36. 

Cudworth,  Ralph,  320,  322  «. 
Cumberland,  Richard,  159  n. 
Cupid,  177. 
Cyril,  162. 
Cyrus,  362,  363,  368. 

Dalton,  Michael,  115. 

Damophyla,  171. 

Dante,  165,  242. 

D'Aubigny,  Kate,  18. 

Darwin,  Charles,  309. 

Davis,  J.  F.,  332  «. 

Deianira,  157. 

Demeter,    135,    145-147,   150,  151, 

162. 

Demetrius  Phalereus,  188. 
Demonax,  128. 
Demosthenes,  367,  368. 
Denmark,  Prince  of,  75. 
De  Quincey,  Thomas,  337. 


INDEX 


381 


De  Retz,  Jean  Francois  Paul  de 

Gondi,  Cardinal,  43,  44,  47,  51, 

62. 

Descartes,  Rend,  20,  71. 
Diana,  135,  322. 
Dickens,   Charles,   229,  252,   279, 

280. 

Dickinson,  Emily,  255. 
Dido,  203. 

Digby,  Sir  Everard,  341,  342,  354. 
Diodorus,  368. 

Diogenes  Laertms,  332  «.,  335  «. 
Diotima,  154,  186. 
Diphilus,  181. 

Dombes,  Mademoiselle  de,  40,  78. 
Dryden,  John,  i,  363,  364,  369. 
Du  Chaillu,  Paul,  344  «. 
Du'bner,  Friedrich,  332  n. 
Dunton,  John,  107. 
Dupin,  A.  L.  A.  (George  Sand), 

164,  180. 

Dwight,  Timothy,  216. 
Dyer,  Mary,  no,  126. 

Eckermann,  226. 
Eggleston,  Edward,  251. 
Eliot,  C.  W.,  217. 
Eliot,  Sir  John,  35,  41. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  47,  115. 
Elliot,  Sir  Frederick,  267. 
Elton,  C.  A.,  188. 
EmeVic-David,  T.  B.,  141. 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  134,  208,  213,222, 
225,  228,  248,  260,  272,  278,  309, 

Empedocles,  141. 

Endicott,  John,  Governor,  119. 

Endymion,  142. 

England,  Queen  of,  52. 

Epes,  Daniel,  105. 

Ephippus,  181. 

Epicharmus,  365. 

Epictetus,    186,  322,   331,   332  «., 

334,  335  «-,  368,  369,  373- 
Erinna,  171. 

Essex,  Earl  of,  23,  32,  36. 
Eu,  Mile,  d',  77. 
Eunica,  170. 
Euripides,  145,  157,  180. 
Everett,  Edward,  257. 

Faber,  F.  W.,28o. 
Fairbanks,  Jonas,  119. 
Fairfax,  Thomas,  35. 
Falkland,  L.  C.,  16. 
Farrar,  F.  W.,  Canon,  210. 
Felton,C.  C.,  173, 183,  185, 186,277. 
Ferdinand  III.,  82. 
Feuerbach,  L.  A.,  354  ft. 
Ficinus,  154  ». 


Fields,  J.  T.,  257. 
Fiesque,  Countess  de,  56. 
Flynt,  Alice,  119. 
Fo,  347. 

Fontenelle,  B.  le  B.,  273. 
Forster,  Charles,  353  «. 
Forster,  John,  35. 
Fox,  George,  121. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  246. 
Frederick  II.,  271. 
Frontenac,  Countess,  de,  56. 
Froude,  J.  A.,  212. 
Fuller,  Thomas,  279. 

Garrison,  W.  L.,  339. 

Gaston,  Duke  of  Orleans,  53,  55, 

62,  63,  68. 

Gautier,  The'ophile,  277,  282. 
Germany,  Emperor  of,  75. 
Gilly,  W.  S.,35i». 
Gladwin,  335  «.,  347. 
Goethe,  J.  F.  W.,  von,  164,  226, 

236,  246,  256,  276,  277. 
Goffe,  Colonel,  16. 
Gongyla,  170. 
Goodwin,   W.    W.,   207,    335    ft., 

372  »M  373  «• 
Gordon,  Julien,  251. 
Gorgias,  186. 
Gorgo,  186. 
Goring,  George,  16. 
Gorton,  Samuel,  109,  123. 
Graces,  The,  177. 
Grant,  U.  S.,  272. 
Grenvill,  Sir  Bevill,  n. 
Griswold,  R.  W.,  129. 
Grote,  George,  146,  160. 
Guitant,  64. 
Guizot,  F.  P.  G.,  351- 
Gunter,  Colonel,  36. 
Gurowski,  Adam,  Count,  375. 
Gustavus  Adolphus,  30,  59. 
Gutzlaff,  Karl,  348. 
Gyrinna,  186. 

Hadlock,  Nathaniel,  89. 
Haggard,  Rider,  280. 
Hale,  Sir  Matthew,  115. 
Hampden,  John,  8,  33-3?)  39.  44. 
Harmonia,  141. 
Harte,  F.  Bret,  262,  263. 
Harvey,  William,  29. 
Hathorne,  John,  231. 
Hautefort,  Madame  de,  44. 
Hauterive,  Madame  de,  77. 
Hawthorne,   Nathaniel,   228,  230, 

232,  249,  272,279,  316. 
Hayley,  William,  279,  315,  316. 
Hayward,  Abraham,  270. 
Hazlerig,  Sir  Arthur,  18. 


382 


INDEX 


Hazlitt,  William,  313. 
Heber,  Reginald,  355,  356  ». 
Hecuba,  158. 
Hedge,  F.  H.,  347,  348  «. 
Heine,  Heinrich,  276,  278. 


Helen,  155-158. 
Helen  of  / ' 


Alexandria,  152. 
Henri  IV.,  51,  77. 
Henrietta  Maria,  9,  18,  45,  61. 
Hephaistos  (Vulcan),  143,  365. 
Hera,  133,  135,  141-145,  147,  149, 

'S°i  fS'i 165- 
Heraclitus,  338. 
Hercules,  130,  157. 
Hermes,  170,  369. 
Hermodorus,  138. 
Herodotus,  173,  178. 
Hesipd,  134. 
Hestia,  135,  147-150. 
Higginson,  Francis,  104. 
Higginson,  John,  89,  90,  105,  116, 

124,  129. 

Hillel,  Rabbi,  330. 
Hipponax,  181. 
Hohnshed,  Raphael,  375. 
Holland,  King  of,  75. 
Holies,  Denzil,  8. 
Holmes,  O.  W.,  260. 
Homer,  134,  141,  142,  144,  145,  151, 

154,  iSS.  '64,  171-173  «.,  178,  184, 

242,  279,  314,  341. 
Hooker,   Thomas,    103,   124,    126, 

127. 

Hopton,  Sir  Ralph,  16. 
Horace,   169,    174,    175,  206,   211, 

254. 

Horus,  162. . 
Houghton,  Lord,  283. 
Howe,  E.  W.,  251. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  253. 
Hue,  Abbe,  332  «.,  337  ».,  343. 
Hugo,  Victor,  237,  261,  309. 
Humboldt,   von,   F.  H.   A.,   323, 

353  «• 

Hume,  David,  34. 
Hutchinson,  Ann,  123. 
Hutchinson,  John,  35. 
Hutchinson,  Mrs.  Lucy,  9,  13. 
Huxley,  T.H.,  212. 
Hyde,  David,  9. 

lamblichus,  331,  332  «.,  373  «. 

Iffland,  W.,  277. 

Innis,  4. 

Iphigenia,  157. 

Irving,  Washington,  243,  245,  247, 

284,313. 
Islam,  344  «. 
Isis,  162. 
Isocrates,  367,  368  «.,  369. 


Jacquemont,  Victor,  356  *. 

James,  Apostle,  105. 

James,  G.  P.  R.,  280. 

James,  Henry,  272. 

James,  King,  97. 

Jeanne    d'Arc,    54,   61,    83,    131, 

182. 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  245,  246,  251. 
Jeffreys,  Dr.,  348  «. 

Jehovah,  132. 
enkins,  David,  n. 
Jerome,  339. 
Jewell,  Bishop,  115. 
Johnston,  Charles,  344  «. 
Joli,  Guy,  44. 
Jones,  Sir  William,  174. 
Jonson,  Ben,  158,  159. 
Josephus,  337. 
Joubert,  Joseph,  282. 
Jouffroy,  T.  S.,  313. 
Jourdain,  353  n. 
Jowett,  Benjamin,  367. 
Julian,  159. 
Juno,  135,  142-144. 
Jupiter,  143,  144,  321. 
Justin,  Martyr,  338,  339  ft. 
Juvenal,  331,  332  «.,  374. 

Keats,  John,  55,  215,  273,  328. 

Keeble,  Joseph,  115. 

Keith,  George,  113. 

Kesava,  330. 

Keshub  Chunder  Sen,  329  «.,  347^ 

348  «.,  355,  356  »• 
Kirke,  Mrs.,  18. 
Knox,  John,  97,  183. 
Kock,  Paul  de,  261. 
Kock,  Theodor,  182  «.,  198. 
Kotzebue,  A.  F.  F.  von,  277. 

La  Bruyere,  Jean  de,  71. 

Lactantius,  338,  339  «. 

La  Fontaine,  August,  277,  278. 

Lamb,  Charles,  315. 

Landor,  W.  S.,  211,  313-315. 

Larichus,  172. 

Larousse,  Pierre,  260. 

Latona,  161. 

Laurent,  Archbishop,  82. 

Lauzun,  A.  N.  de  Caumont,  Duke 

de,  77-79- 
La  Valliere,  L.    F.,  de  la  Baume 

le  Blanc,  77,  80. 
Lecky,  W.  E.  H.,  353  «. 
Legge,  James,  332  ». 
Legge,  Will,  4,  22,  25,  32. 
Leibnitz,  G.  W.,  von,  20. 
Lempriere  John,  131. 
Leopold  of  Austria,  75. 
Lewes,  Mrs.  (.George  Eliot),  230. 


INDEX 


383 


Lincoln,  Abraham,  245,  255,  272, 

357- 
Longfellow,  H.  W.,  270,  278,  279, 

Longinus,  191. 

Longueville,   A.    G.   de  Bourbon- 

Concte,  Duchesse  de,  43,  47,  71, 

278. 

Louis  XIII.,  King,  41,  51. 
Louis  XIV.,  King,  40,42, 51,75,81. 
Lowell,  J.   R. ,  200,  260,  264,  266, 

267,  282,  283. 
Lubbock,  Sir  James,  315. 
Lucan,  33*1  332  «.,  374- 
Lucas,  Lady,  12. 
Luke,  Sir  Samuel,  13,  36. 
Lunsford,  Herbert,  4. 
Luther,  Martin,  351,  353,  354  n. 
Lycus,  174. 

Mackenzie,  Sir  George,  336,  337  «. 
Mademoiselle,  La  Grande,  22,  40- 

83- 

MacKaye,  Maria,  E.,  318  «. 
Mahon,  Lord,  45,  53. 
Maine,  Sir  Henry,  246. 
Malebranche,  Nicolas,  20. 
Mancini,  Marie  de,  80. 
Marcus    Antoninus,  322,  331,  332 

»•,  334,  335  «•»  373- 
Marechal  de  Villeroi,  67. 
Marguerite  of  Lorraine,  51,  53. 
Mane  de  Medicis,  22,  70. 
Marlowe,  Christopher,  258. 
Mars,  19,  53. 
Marten,  Harry,  14,  17. 
Martin's  Colonial  Magazine,  324  «. 
Marvell,  Andrew,  225. 
Mary  Magdalene,  163. 
Mary,Queen(Henrietta  Maria),24. 
Mary,  Virgin,  132,  162,  343. 
Mason,  William,  315. 
Mather,  Cotton,  90,  94,  96,  98,  99, 

105,  107,  108,  113,  114,  116,  121, 

122,  124. 

Mather,  Increase,  90,  105,  120, 124. 
Matthews,  Brander,  252. 
Maturin,  E.  S.,  257. 
Maule,  Thomas,  89. 
Maximus    Tyrius,    186,    187,    321, 

322  n.,  334,  335  «. 
May,  Samuel,  121. 
Mazarin,  Jules,  Cardinal,  43,   45, 

47,  48,  5°>  57.  67,  69,  70,  76,  78, 

80,  81. 

Medhope,  Major,  12. 
Meineke,  J.  A.  F.  A.  373  «. 
Melanchthon,  Philip,  353,  453  «. 
Mclissias,  160. 
Menander,  331,  332  «.,  373. 


Menelaus,  155,  156,  158. 

Menzel,  Wolfgang,  277. 

Mercury,  321. 

Merivale,  Charles,  342  ».,  372  «. 

Miantonimo,  101. 

Millais,  I.E.,  259. 

Miller,  C.  H,  (Joaquin  Miller),  283. 

Millet,  J.  F.,  259. 

Milman,  H.  H.,  341,  342  ».,  370. 

Milnes,  R.  M.  (Lord  Houghton), 

262,  280. 

Milton,  John,  38,  209,  279. 
Minerva,  53,  135,  139,  322. 
Minsheu,  John,  361-363,  375, 
Minucius,  Felix,  338,  339  «. 
Mitchell,  John,  95,  108,  233. 
Mnasidica,  171. 
Mohammed,  322,  324. 
Mote,  Mathieu,  44. 
Moliere.J.  B.,  70,80,  278. 
Monk,  George,  38. 
Montagu,  Elizabeth,  258. 
Montaigne,  M.  £.,205. 
Montespan,  Francoise  Athenaisde 

Rochechouart,  Marquise  de,  80. 
Montpensier,  Duchesse  de,  40,  78. 
Montrose,  Marquis  of,  18. 
Moody,  Joshua,  95. 
Morgan,  Lady,  263. 
Motley,  J.  L.,  243,  247,  248,  264, 

265. 

Motteville,  Madame  de,  69. 
Muller,  K.  O.,  179  n. 
Muller,  Max,  130,  335  «.,  337  «., 

344  »•!  37'. 
Mure,   Colonel,  182  «.,  183,   198, 

199. 

Murfree,  M.  N.,  251,  263. 
Muses,  The,   170,    174,   177,    187, 

1 88. 

Mutius,  Scaevola,  342  «. 
Myrtis,  174. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  61,  67,  216, 

258. 

Nausicaa,  155. 

Neander,  J.  A.  W.,  343,  353  «. 
Neptune,  321. 
Nestorius,  162. 
Neue,  C.  F.,  182  «.,  192. 
Newark,  Duke  of,  38. 
Newcastle,  Duke  of,  33,  35. 
Newton,  C.  T.,  170  n. 
Newton,  G.  S.,  309. 
Newton,  John,  347. 
Nichol,  John,  265. 
Norton,  John,  103,  124. 

Odysseus,  155,  156. 
Oliver,  Mrs.,  101. 


384 


INDEX 


Ollendorff,  H.  G.,  208. 

O'Neal,  Daniel,  4,  28,  32. 

Orange,  Prince  of,  20. 

Origen,  322. 

Orme,  Marion  de  1',  83. 

Orpheus,  135, 142. 

Osiris,  326. 

Ossian,  258. 

Ossoli,  Margaret  Fuller,  144,  154, 

180,  185,  235,  249,  277,  282. 
Ovid,  134,  172,  181,  196. 
Owen,  Sir  Richard,  219. 
Oxenstiern,  Axel,  Count,  276. 

Palatine,  Princess,  20,  47,  80. 

Pallas  Athena,  136-139,  iji. 

Paris,  138,  141. 

Parker,  Theodore,  234,  309. 

Pajkman,  Francis,  265,  349  n. 

Parton,  James,  253. 

Partridge,  Ralph,  124. 

Pascal,  Blaise,  71. 

Pascal,  Jacqueline,  72. 

Patrpclus,  342. 

Pattison,  Mark,  310. 

Paul,  Apostle,  105,  119,  321,  338, 

369,  370  ».,  375. 
Paulus  Silentians,  159. 
Pauthier,  J.  P.  G.,  332  «. 
Pearson,  John,  n. 
Penn,  William,  20,  340. 
Pepys,  Samuel,  22. 
Percival,  J.  G.,  192. 
Percy,  Algernon,  4,  28. 
Pere  la  Chaise,  83. 
Pericles,  172. 
Perry,  Mrs.  T.  S.,  316. 
Persephone,  145,  146. 
Peter,  Apostle,  105. 
Petrarch,  Francesco,  163. 
Phaedrus,  173  «.,  186,  187. 
Phaethon,  196. 
Phaon,  181,  182  «.,  196,  197. 
Phelps,  Nicholas,  Mrs.,  90. 
Phidias,  134,  137,  141. 
Philip,  King,  102. 
Philip  IV.,  King,  of  Spain,  75. 
Philips,  Ambrose,  190. 
Phillips,  Major,  114. 
Phillips,  Wendell,  234,  248,  309. 
Philostratus,  158,  159  «. 
Phojbus,  136,  147,  322. 
Phylo,  156. 
Pindar,  152,  174. 
Pittacus,  334,  335  n. 
Plastow,  Josiah,  104. 
Plato,  139,  154,  159,  173,  177,  i99» 

2'4,  322,  334,  335  «•,  34°  «•>  34*. 

366,  367  «.,37i. 
Plutarch,   173,    186,    331,  332    n., 


334,  335  «•»  368,  369,  37'.  372. 

373  «• 

Poe,  E.  A.,  316. 
Polybius,  363,  369. 
Poinpey,  169. 
Porphyry,  327. 
Portsmouth,  Duchess  of,  82. 
Portugal,  King  of,  75. 
Poseidon,  147. 
Praxiteles,  141. 
Prescott,  W.  H.,  264. 
Pride,  Colonel,  16. 
Princess  Royal,  44. 
Proclus,  135,  142  «. 
Prodicus,  186. 
Prometheus,  365,  366,  368. 
Proserpine,  145,  188. 
Protagoras,  186. 
Prussia,  Frederick  II.,  of,  271. 
Prynne,  William,  16. 
Ptolemy,  Hephsstion,  198. 
Pym,  John,  6,  14,  16,  35,  44,  in. 
Pythagoras,  331,  332  n.,  373. 

Quintilian,  134,  331,  332  «.,  374. 

Racine,  Jean,  80,  278. 

Rahel  (Madame  Varnhagen  von 
Ense),  224. 

Rainsford,  W.  S.,  Dr.,  267. 

Rambouillet,  Madame  de,  44. 

Ramler,  K.  W.,  277. 

Ram  Mohun  Roy,  333,  335  «.,  355, 
356  «. 

Raphael  Sanzio,  133,  165,  353. 

Reade,  W.  W.,  344  «. 

Regulus,  342  n. 

Retz,  Mile,  de,  77. 

Retzsch,  Moritz,  133. 

Rhodoclea,  159. 

Richard  I.,  King,  227. 

Richardson,  Charles,  363  «.,  370  n. 

Richardson,  James,  344  «. 

Richelieu,  A.  J.  du  Plessis,  Cardi 
nal  de,  41,  48,  49. 

Richmond,  Duchess  of,  18. 

Ripa,  Father,  342. 

Rivers,  Countess  of,  13. 

Rochefoucauld,  Due  de  la,  44,  47, 
64,  71. 

Roche-Giffard,  64. 

Rogers,  Ezekiel,  107,  124. 

Rogers,  Nathaniel,  124. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  279. 

Rohan,  M.  de,  54. 

Rohan,  Madame  de,  77. 

Rollo,  82. 

Roscoe,  William,  313. 

Ross,  James,  335  «. 

Rufinus,  159. 


INDEX 


385 


Rupert,  Prince,  1-39. 
Ruskin,  John,  164,  259,  353. 

Sable,  Madame  de,  71. 

Sadi,  333,  335  n. 

Saladin,  227. 

St.  Augustine,  321,  322  ».,  324  «., 

338,  339  »• 

St.  Aulaire,  L.  C.  de  B.,  de,  42. 
St.  John,  J.  A.,  153. 
Salvian,  350,  351  n. 
Samson,  J.  I.,  236. 
Sand,  George.     See  Dupin. 
Sappho,  168-199. 
Satan,  343. 

Savoy,  Duchess  of,  52. 
Savoy,  Duke  of,  75. 
Say,  Lord,  8. 
Scamandrouimus,  172. 
Scherer,  E.  H.  A.,  246. 
Schiller,  J.  C.  F.  von,  277. 
Schmolders,  August,  353  n. 
Scipio,  363. 
Scott,  Thomas,  101. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  208, 233,  250, 251. 
Scouga),  Henry,  340. 
Scudery,  Mile,  de,  70. 
Seeley,  J.  R.,  212. 
Semele,  145. 
Seneca,  321,  322  «.,  374. 
SeVigne1,  Madame  de,  76,  78,  80. 
Seward,  Anna,  279,  315. 
Shakespeare,   William,    131,    164, 

190,  230,  238,  254,  258,  327,  328, 

361. 

Shaw,  H.  W.  (Josh  Billings),  264. 
Shelley,  P.  B.,  315. 
Shepard,  Thomas,  95,  108,  124. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  271. 
Skelton,  Samuel,  119. 
Sleeman,  W.  H.,  344. 
Sly,  Christopher,  311. 
Smith,  Abby,  98. 
Smith,  Goldwin,  244. 
Smith,  Mary,  98. 
Smith,  R.  B.,  344  ». 
Smith,  Sydney,  219. 
Socrates,   179,  180,  186,   187,   338, 

342,  363-368. 
Solomon,  126,  132. 
Solon,  177,368. 
Sophocles,  E.  A.,  370  «. 
Sorel,  Agnes,  83. 
Southampton,  Henry  Wriotheeley, 

Earl  of,  190. 

Southey,  Robert,  279, 314,  315,  349. 
Spain,  King  of,  52. 
Spain,  Queen  of,  52. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  313. 
Spencer,  Lord  Robert,  15. 


Spenser,  Edmund,  164,  256,  271, 

280,  361. 

Steere,  Sir  Henry,  363. 
Sterling,  John,  262,  280. 
Stobseus,  322  «.,  332  «. 
Stockton,  F.  R.,  316. 
Stone,  Samuel,  124. 
Story,  W.  W.,  200. 
Stowe,  Harriet  B.,  241,  262,  263. 
Strabo,  172. 
Strafford,     Thomas     Wentworth, 

Earl  of,  14, 16. 
Stuart,  Lord  Bernard,  33. 
Stuart,  Elizabeth,  20. 
Stuart,  Mary,  Queen,  183. 
Suckling,  Sir  John,  8. 
Sumner,  Charles,  283. 
Swaamee  Narain,  355,  356  n. 
Swayn,  Dick,  121. 

Tacitus,  337. 

Taen,  Archbishop  of,  30. 

Taine,  H.  A.,  259. 

Talon,  Omer,  44,  67. 

Tasso,  314. 

Tatian,  142  «.,  181. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  355. 

Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  267. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,    n,   19,   362-364, 

37°- 

Taylor,  Thomas,  313. 
Telemachus,  155,  156. 
Telesilla,  152. 
Tennent,  Gilbert,  114. 
Tennent,  J.  E.,  343,  344  «.,  352  n. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  223,  258, 

262,  280,  281. 
Terence,  331,  332  «.,  374. 
Tertullian,  338,  339  «.,  342  «. 
Thackeray,  W.  M.,  157,  164,  229, 

279,  280. 

Thales,  330,  332  «. 
Theano,  152. 
Theodorias,  159. 
Theodota,  159. 
Thersites,  219. 
Theseus,  130. 

Thirlwall,  Connop,  131,  182. 
Thoreau,  H.  D.,  235,  249,  255, 276, 

279,  317,  360. 
Thrasymachus,  186. 
Thucydides,  137,  152. 
Ticknor,  George,  283. 
Timas,  188. 
Timocles,  181. 
Timothy,  Apostle,  375  «. 
Tourgueneff,  Ivan,  316. 
Travers,  W.  R.,  270. 
Trench,  R.  C.,  262,  280. 
Trench,  Mrs.  Richard,  238. 


386 


INDEX 


Tupper,  M.  F.,  262. 
Turenne,  H.  de  la  T.  d'Auvergne, 
Vicompte  de,  42,  49, 53, 61, 66, 80. 
Tyler,  Abraham,  85. 

Uhland,  J.  L.,  197. 
Uncas,  102. 

Urquhart,  David,  353  «. 
Urry,  Sir  John,  24,  32. 

Valerius  Maximus,  334,  335  n. 

Vallon,  65. 

Van  Dyck,  Sir  Anthony,  5. 

Vane,  Sir  Harry,  3«,  123. 

Vatel,  80. 

Venner,  Thomas,  16. 

Venus,  19,  135,  139,  141,  174. 

Verney,  Sir  Edmund,  15. 

Vesta,  135,  147. 

Vestris,  G.  A.  B.,  271. 

Villeroi,  Mare'chal  de,  67. 

Virgil,  206,  218,  279,  314. 

Voiture,  Vincent,  80. 

Voltaire,   F.  M.    A.,  de,   42,   131, 

182,  184,  258,  271. 
Vulcan,  322. 

Wagner,  Richard,  254. 
Wallace,  H.  B.,  257. 
Waller,  Sir  William,  16,  35. 
Walpole,  Horace,  239. 
Ward,  Nathaniel,  99. 
Warham,  John,  124. 
Warner,  C.  D.,  244. 
Warwick,  Earl  of,  15,  21. 
Washington,  Colonel,  i,  4. 
Wasson,  D.  A.,  224. 
Webster,  John,  230. 
Welcker,  F.  G.,  182,  183. 
Wellington,      Arthur     Wellesley, 
Duke  of,  61. 


Wells,  William,  200,  207. 
Wentworth,  Lord,  4. 
Whalley,  Major-general,  16. 
Whitefield,  George,  114, 
Whitman,  Walt,  263. 
Whittier,  J.  G.,264. 
Wieland,  Christoph  Martin,  277. 
Wigglesworth,  Michael,  108. 
Wilkins,  Mary  E.,  251. 
Wilkins,  Sir  Charles,  332  n. 
William  the  Conqueror,  82. 
William  the  Silent,  20. 
Williams,   Roger,   100,    101,    104, 

no,  123,  125. 
Williams,  S.  W.,  348  ». 
Willis,  N.  P.,  279. 
Wilson,  H.  H.,332«. 
Wilson,  John,  99,  in,  126. 
Wilson,  J.  L.,  344  ». 
Winckelmann,  J.  J.,  143. 
Winthrop,  John,  120. 
Wise,  I.  M.,  Rabbi,  356. 
Wolf,  J.  C.,  174,  192. 
Wolf,  J.  R.,  346- 
Wolstenholme,  John,  13. 
Woodbridge,  Benjamin,  105. 
Worcester,  Marquis  of,  35. 
Wordsworth,   William,    209,    280, 


Xantippe,  187. 
Xenophon,  362,  368. 

York,  Duke  of,  38. 
Young,  Edward,  369,  370  n. 

Zeno,  331,  342  n.,  372. 

Zeus,  133,  138,  141,  i43-M7»    M9> 

'89,  19?.  365.  366- 
Zola,  Emile,  261. 
Zoroaster,  322,  324,  326. 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  6*  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass,  U.S.  A. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

lilllllliil 
A    001367616    8 


